


Even the Caged Bird Sings

by barbitone



Series: Voltron Fanfiction [49]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Crying, Explicit Sexual Content, Lotor's 16 in the begining, M/M, Pining, Prisoner of War, Sex, Sexual Harassment, Underage - Freeform, Violence, Whump, bad guy alfor, good dad zarkon, lotor whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-04-23 14:23:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19152832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone
Summary: In order to end the war between the Alteans and Galra, King Alfor takes a prisoner- King Zarkon’s son, Prince Lotor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'd say the fic isn't super dark but please read the warnings anyway!

 

* * *

 

“Get away from the window,” Sendak said, his voice low and urgent.

Lotor ignored him, staring wide-eyed as Altean soldiers burst into the yard below. There was fire everywhere, screaming-

“Lotor!” Sendak bit out, pulling him away just as a stray arrow flew through the window, embedding itself into the wooden bedpost behind him.

Lotor gasped but Dayak was already hustling over to close the shutters, throwing them into darkness.

“I told you to stay away from the windows,” she hissed.

“I’m sorry,” Lotor whispered, turning and sinking to the ground with his back to the bed, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. He buried his face in his knees so they wouldn’t see the tears streaming down his cheeks. He wasn’t a boy any longer, he was sixteen- and he was the prince. He had to remain composed and not shame himself by letting his terror show.

He couldn’t hold back a pathetic sniffle and curled tighter into himself. Sendak sat beside him and wrapped his arm around Lotor’s shoulders, pulling him close against the warmth of his side. He was only a year older but he was so much stronger and braver than Lotor was. When Lotor chanced a glance up to his face he seemed determined and calm, like he wasn’t concerned at all about the fact their homeland was falling to invading forces.

“Dayak, what will happen if they make it in here?” Sendak asked quietly.

Dayak tightened her lips into a thin line and that made Lotor more afraid than all the soldiers below. She seemed uncertain as she knelt before them, reaching out to set her hands on their shoulders. “King Zarkon’s entire kingsguard stands between us and them, so they may yet be repelled. And if they’re not-”

She broke off, breathing harshly. She closed her eyes and swallowed, and when she opened them again her expression was determined and cold as she took Lotor’s face in her calloused hands. “You must be brave and strong, little prince,” she whispered. “And you, young knight,” she said, turning to Sendak. “You must stay by his side and protect him. We both must.”

They huddled together while the screams got louder, closer. There were footsteps outside and the clashing of metal as the battle found them.

“It’s time,” Dayak said, getting to her feet and drawing her sword as Sendak did the same.

“I can help, I’ve been training alongside Sendak my whole life,” Lotor pleaded as he stood as well. “Just give me a blade-”

“No,” Dayak said firmly. “You mustn’t fight them. You must survive, do you understand? You must survive this.”

There were footsteps just outside the bedchamber and a loud thud as someone tried to break down the door. Lotor flinched and fell back, shaking as he waited for whatever was coming for him.

“Lotor,” Sendak said, turning to him with unshed tears glittering in his amber eyes. “If this is the end I want you to know- I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

“Sendak,” Lotor breathed out, his heart shattering into a thousand pieces. He surged forward to press a clumsy kiss to Sendak’s lips. “You could have said- why didn’t you say?”

The door burst inwards and Sendak turned away to stand at Dayak’s side as the intruders strode in, a dozen soldiers led by a tall man with snow white hair. All were covered in blood, practically dripping with it.

“Surrender,” the leader ordered, “we’re here only for the prince.”

“No,” Dayak said, tightening her grip on her sword.

“Very well,” the man said with a sigh. He raised his hand and his soldiers rushed forward.

Lotor could only stare in horror as the fight broke out before him. Sendak was a good fighter and Dayak was a terror, but what good was that when they were outnumbered six to one?

Dayak fell first, crying out and dropping her sword as one of the Alteans slashed her in the arm. The Altean kicked her in the gut and she fell back with a grunt- and then Sendak was falling too, his head hitting the flagstones with a sickening crack.

Time seemed to slow and Lotor could only stare. Sendak wasn’t moving. There was a puddle of blood under him, spreading slowly, red and glistening. His chestnut hair was matted and stained, his arm bent at an unnatural angle.

Lotor couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think-

“Quickly now,” the Altean leader ordered, striding forward to grab Lotor by the arm. Lotor didn’t struggle as he was dragged away. He didn’t have it in himself to struggle, to scream, to anything. He turned so he could keep Sendak and Dayak in sight, reaching out for them. Dayak coughed and fought to sit up as she held her hand pressed to the wound in her shoulder but Sendak wasn’t moving at all. He was just _lying there_ in a pool of his own blood-

“Take him,” the Altean leader said, handing Lotor off to another Altean, a man with red hair and a bristling moustache. “We need to go, before they rally their remaining forces.”

“Alfor,” the red-haired man said. “Are you sure this is wise-?”

The leader, King Alfor, frowned. “Yes, Coran.” He took Lotor by the chin and tilted his face up, his cold eyes boring into Lotor’s very soul. “You’re the key to ending this war, princeling. So if you want to save your people from further suffering you’ll be good and quiet.”

He let Lotor go and stepped back, scanning the halls. “Take him. Now.”

“Yes, sire,” the red-haired man, Coran, said quietly. He motioned to a few of the soldiers and they split off.

Lotor didn’t struggle as Coran dragged him through the blood-stained halls. He felt sick at every dead body they passed, every gruesome scene of violence. None of it was as horrible as the scene that kept flashing before his mind’s eye- Sendak, lying quiet and still as the pool of his blood expanded under him.

Coran pulled him out into the main yard and the cold air was a shock, the smell of smoke overwhelming. There was a white horse and they made him get into the saddle before tying his hands to the pommel with rough rope. Coran took the reins before mounting his own horse, a magnificent roan with braids in its mane, and they were off- somewhere. Back to Altea, perhaps, where he’d be- imprisoned, or executed, or worse.

Lotor felt numb as they galloped through the night, slowing occasionally to rest the horses. They didn’t stop until midday and Lotor practically fell out of the saddle when they untied him and ordered him down. He sank to his knees with a muffled cry. He was unused to riding so long; his whole body was aching, the insides of his thighs chafed and raw. His wrists hurt too, and he was horrified to see he was bleeding.

Someone offered him a cup of water but he turned his face away only to get a vicious slap in response. The second time they offered him water he didn’t refuse. They stood watch over him for an hour or two while the soldiers rested before forcing him back into the saddle.

It was agony. Tears rose to his eyes but he blinked them back furiously, trying to breathe slow and even. At least the pain in his burning thighs and wrists, his aching hips and back, was somewhat of a distraction from the vision of Sendak lying lifeless on the ground, the dead soldiers piled up in the halls.

At nightfall they stopped again and tied him to a stake in the center of camp. He watched numbly as Altean soldiers moved to-and-fro, ignoring him for the most part as they went about their business of setting up tents and cooking fires.

The smell of food rising around him only made Lotor feel sick and he closed his eyes. He wouldn’t cry. He _wouldn’t_ cry. He was the prince. Dayak had told him to be brave and strong.

Everything hurt too badly to get comfortable and he focused on the hurt to try and quiet his thoughts. Eventually it started to rain, driving the Alteans inside their tents. Lotor closed his eyes and turned his face up into it, focusing on the freezing water soaking into his clothes and numbing some of the aches. It drenched his hair and poured into his mouth and he couldn’t hold it back then- the devastated sobbing.

It was alright- no one was watching him, they were all safe inside out of the wet. No one could hear him through the howling wind and pouring rain, the thunder rolling in over the hills. He cried himself to exhaustion, thinking of his destroyed homeland, his dead loved ones. He had no idea what had happened to his father, all their people. All he knew was Sendak, and the pool of blood-

He sobbed louder, wailing out his grief.

Eventually he must have drifted off because the next thing he knew someone was slapping him in the face. He opened his eyes blearily, his head feeling like it was full of cotton. He was so cold, his clothes wet and gritty with dirt. He was sitting in a puddle and everything smelled of mud and damp.

“Get up,” a soldier said as he untied Lotor from the post and dragged him up.

Lotor swayed on his feet. His very bones were aching, his teeth chattering. Somehow he managed to stay standing, Dayak’s words ringing through his skull, and followed the soldier through the camp. He was taken to some sort of stinking trench, the foul smell making him want to gag.

“Well?” the soldier asked. “If you need to relieve yourself this is your chance. You won’t have another until we stop for the night.”

Oh. Of course. The soldier was still _watching_ though, standing with his arms crossed over his chest, and Lotor had to bite his lip and look down, pretending he was somewhere else as he opened the soggy fastenings of his pants with shaky fingers. Somehow he managed to piss under the soldier’s watchful gaze, afraid that any moment he’d do- something. Slap him, push him into the trench, or- or worse.

Thankfully he remained unmolested until he finished and closed his pants again, and the soldier took him by the arm to drag him away. He led Lotor back to the horse and he couldn’t help recoiling.

His thighs were burning so badly after the hard riding earlier, the thought of enduring another day of it while he already felt so raw was unimaginable. But Dayak had said to be brave and strong. This was nothing compared to what his people were suffering. He took a deep breath and tried not to scream as he forced himself to climb up into the saddle.

The second day was so much worse than the first. His breathing came quick and labored as every step of the horse brought fresh agony to his thighs, his chafed wrists. But then the day was over just as the last had been and they tied him up in the middle of camp again.

Someone brought over some sort of bland broth and Lotor didn’t dare refuse it, even if it made his stomach roil unpleasantly.

He didn’t cry that night, too exhausted to manage it. As the night progressed he floated somewhere outside his body, asleep and yet not, too tired to dream.

The morning was the same as the previous one. Someone took him to relieve himself, even though walking was even harder now than before. His pants were sticking to him oddly, his clothes stiff and itchy after getting wet and drying to his body.

They took him back to the horse and he nearly broke out into tears.

“Please, no.”

The words tore themselves out of his throat before he could stop them and it was too late to call them back. Dayak had told him to be brave and strong. King Alfor had told him to be good and quiet. And now he’d failed both sets of instructions.

“What do you mean _no?”_ the soldier demanded, raising his hand like he was about to strike. Lotor shut his eyes and raised his hands, flinching.

“What is the meaning of this?” came a familiar voice and Lotor slowly opened his eyes to see Coran walking towards them.

“Sir,” the soldier said, standing at attention and saluting. “He refuses to get in the saddle.”

Coran ran his measured gaze over Lotor’s body, stopping just above his knees. “He’s bleeding.”

Lotor couldn’t help looking, shocked to see Coran was right- his pants were stained with dried blood at his inner thighs. He hadn’t realized it was that bad, too focused on other worries and fears.

“Put him in one of the wagons,” Coran said and Lotor nearly collapsed with relief.

“Yes, sir,” the soldier nodded and Coran walked away.

Lotor was led to a covered wagon and unceremoniously pushed inside. The wagon was full of chests of gold and jewels, silver and other precious items- pilfered treasure from Galra vaults. How fitting that he’d be stuck in here with all of it. What was he, after all, other than just another piece of stolen property. It was uncomfortable but still so much better than riding the horse. Someone came by to shove a musty blanket at him and he didn’t complain, shivering as he covered himself with it.

The army started moving again and Lotor almost missed the agony. All he could do was stare blindly outwards at the ground going past, each moment taking him further and further away from home- or whatever was left of it now.

Eventually he drifted off into a fitful sleep only to be woken again at nightfall.

That night he was taken into a tent to stand trembling before King Alfor, Coran, and half a dozen soldiers and generals.

“Surely he’s too scrawny to be Zarkon’s son,” one of the generals said, wrinkling his nose. “You’re certain this is him?”

“Yes, General,” Alfor said calmly, not bothering to rise from where he was seated at a camp desk. “I’m certain.”

The general that had spoken narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

Lotor bit his lip and looked down at his feet, trying to keep his breathing slow and even. Sendak had called him scrawny sometimes, when they sparred. But he’d done it with warmth in his eyes and a smile on his lips, usually after Lotor managed to disarm him and press the dull practice blade to his throat.

“Why should Zarkon care about this whelp? The Galra throne is not passed down by blood, he’s not even a true heir by any Galra measure-”

“He’s Zarkon’s _son,”_ Alfor said coldly. “You all seem to forget I knew Zarkon quite well a lifetime ago. As long as we have his boy he’ll bend to our will. Coran.”

“Yes, sire?”

“Let’s send Zarkon a lock of hair, to start. Make it clear that if he proves obstinate the next piece we send will be significantly more… vital.”

“Very good, sire,” Coran said, unsheathing his dagger as he walked closer.

Lotor closed his eyes and pretended he was somewhere else as Coran gathered his hair in his fist and cut it roughly.

“That’s all for now,” Alfor ordered. “Take him away.”

By some unspoken agreement they let him sleep in the cart, up off the cold ground. Lotor couldn’t help being grateful for the small kindness, even as King Alfor’s words rang through his mind. _The next piece we send…_

But at least that meant his father was still alive, still powerful enough to be worth extorting. Briefly Lotor wondered if perhaps he should find a way to end his own life, free his father of the duty of trying to keep him safe-

He dismissed the thought almost as quickly as he had it. What was to stop the Alteans from lying, saying Lotor was still alive? Nothing. They could simply preserve his corpse and snip off pieces as needed, and what good would that do anyone? And… Dayak had told him to survive. So he’d survive, for her if for no one else.

He closed his eyes and saw Sendak lying lifeless in a pool of blood- and opened his eyes again with a sharp gasp.

The night was cold even with the blanket. Lotor’s thighs burned and itched, the rest of him was sore and aching. He was hungry and thirsty, even past the ever-present nausea. His mind seemed fuzzy. Everything was so utterly hopeless. He almost wished he could cry again to get at least some small measure of relief but there was nothing left, nothing at all.

 

* * *

 

The days passed in a haze, running together until he wasn’t sure how much time had gone by. Eventually they reached Altea and he was left in a cell in blessed solitude. That lasted all of a few hours before soldiers came to take him, leading him into a plain stone chamber. The first thing he noticed was a steaming tub of water, then King Alfor pacing before the wide window, his man Coran standing quietly in the corner of the room.

“-infuriating, as usual,” Alfor was saying to his ever-present general, or perhaps advisor.

“Yes, sire,” Coran said mildly.

“I suppose we’ll just have to convince him.” Alfor looked up, looking right at Lotor. There was no cruelty in his gaze, just cold pragmatism. Lotor shivered, knowing that this man, this King, would do whatever he thought right and nothing could sway him. “Strip.”

Lotor swallowed, sure he’d misheard.

Alfor sighed with exasperation and waved his hand. The soldiers that had brought Lotor to the room stepped forward to rip his clothes away while he could only stand there, trembling. He couldn’t help the small cry when they pulled his pants down, ripping the fabric away from where it had dried to the bruised and broken skin of his thighs. He thought that would be the worst of it until they shoved him in the tub. The hot water stung his skin and he bit his lip to try and hold back tears of pain and humiliation.

“Wash yourself, unless you want my soldiers to do it for you,” Alfor said.

Lotor reached for the soap sitting on the edge of the tub and started washing with shaking hands. Alfor ignored him, flipping through parchments on his desk.

“Hair too,” one of the soldiers muttered before unceremoniously shoving Lotor’s head under the water.

Lotor came up coughing and sputtering, shrinking away from the man in fear.

“Quiet!” Alfor ordered and Lotor fought to calm himself but only managed to cough harder.

“Sire,” Coran said gently. “He’s just a boy.”

“He’s a bargaining chip,” Alfor said. “Wash your hair, princeling,” he added with a glare at Lotor.

Lotor washed his hair as best he could, and then they were pulling him out of the tub. He’d expected a towel, clothes, but instead they set a wooden stool in the center of the room and ordered him to stand upon it, still naked.

“Write this down, Coran,” Alfor said as he stood and walked closer, examining Lotor like he was a bug in a case. “Small mole- right shoulder blade.”

Lotor ducked his head and covered his groin with his hands, anything for a bit of dignity as Alfor continued his inspection.

“Three moles, roughly in a line, right hip. And- a thin scar, approximately one handwidth long. How did you get this, princeling?”

Lotor jerked, licking his dry lips. “Riding accident,” he whispered.

“Riding accident, Coran. Write that down.”

It seemed to last for ages, and at the end Alfor stepped back, looking at him critically. “Anything else? Any other distinguishing marks?”

Lotor shook his head slowly even though at some point he’d stopped paying attention.

“Fine,” Alfor said. “Take him back to his cell.”

Someone shoved a tunic into his hands and he gratefully pulled it on.

“Why are you doing this?” Lotor managed, finally finding his voice.

Alfor turned to look at him, his gaze piercing and blank. “So your father knows we truly have you. So he knows we undressed you and inspected you. And so he thinks twice about what we may do to you next before he chooses whether to obey our demands.”

Hearing it all laid out in such a cold blooded manner made Lotor’s heart sink. Any shred of hope he might have had vanished abruptly. Alfor would never give him up, not for as long as he was useful for keeping Zarkon in check. This was his life now, as a bargaining chip for Alfor to use as he liked.

He didn’t struggle as he followed the guards back to his cell, and once he was alone he curled up in the corner and buried his face in his arms, weeping as he tried not to think of an ever-expanding pool of blood, glistening in the firelight.

 

* * *

 

When they fed him he ate; when they gave him clothes he put them on. Everything felt pointless, like he was just going through the motions. He amused himself with idle fantasies- escaping, returning home. Sometimes he imagined being back in his bedchamber and picking up a sword, fighting with Dayak and Sendak and winning together. Or, when he was feeling particularly lonely, of dying together.

Eventually Coran came to his cell accompanied by a servant, a pretty young woman with long blond hair. Lotor stayed silent as Coran opened the door.

“Your father is cooperating,” he said quietly, like that was supposed to make Lotor feel better. He felt awful that he’d been captured, that he was being used like this. “As long as he continues to do so, there’s no reason for you to remain in this cell. Come along.”

Lotor stood. They led him out of the dungeons and towards what must have been the servant’s wing, showing him to a bedchamber. It was even tinier than his cell had been, but it had a narrow bed and a window, along with a small shelf on one wall.

“Romelle will tell you what you’ll be doing. Do as she says.”

Coran nodded and left, leaving Lotor alone with the woman.

Lotor looked at her critically. She was young and slender, though obviously sturdy and strong. But he’d been training to fight since he’d been old enough to hold a blade- he could overpower her easily enough. He briefly considered killing her, snapping her neck and-

And what? What would be the point? He’d be no closer to escape. They’d simply punish him and send him back to his cell and he’d waste away in there, alone.

He stayed still and silent as he waited for her to tell him what to do.

“Well,” she said, wringing her hands in her apron. “You’ll be- helping out. In the kitchens mostly. At least to start. We can’t have you cooking, obviously. But you can scrub pots and pans.”

She stopped, staring at him like she expected him to protest, like she expected him to be annoyed or indignant. Maybe they thought he’d take it as an offence- a prince, scrubbing pots.

At any other time he might have laughed. He’d scrubbed pots before, plenty of times. Sometimes as a punishment from Dayak, though most of the time it had been to keep Sendak company on _his_ punishments- for being impertinent or late to lessons, for running his smart mouth when he shouldn’t have been.

Lotor swallowed heavily and turned his thoughts back to the present, to Romelle standing before him. He forced himself to nod.

Her shoulders dropped in something like relief and it was only then he realized she’d been tense. “Come along then,” she said quietly.

No one had given him boots and he wasn’t about to ask. He followed barefoot as she led him to the kitchen and showed him the stack of dirty pots. For the rest of the day he scrubbed them with sand and a brush, his hands growing red and chapped from the harsh soap, his fingers aching. He continued without complaint, letting the soft chatter of the cooks and maids wash over him. No one paid him any attention and he let his mind drift until Romelle touched his shoulder near sundown.

She gave him some soup for supper and showed him to a different room afterwards, where she set him to scrubbing the floors. He did that without complaint too. Soon his knees were scraped and bruised and his whole body aching, but it was a strange relief to be doing _something_ , to be working with his hands.

Eventually she fetched him and brought him back to his room, and after she left he heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. He sat on the small cot and dropped his face into his hands, breathing slowly. He didn’t try opening the door, didn’t try the window either. It was big enough that he probably could have slipped out, but escape was the furthest thing from his mind. He was exhausted and aching, every muscle sore and crying out in pain. All he wanted was to rest, to sleep, and not to dream.

 

* * *

 

His days settled into a strange monotonous routine. He scrubbed pots and floors, he ate the meager rations presented to him, he went to bed sore and aching and didn’t dream.

No one spoke to him, no one but Romelle when she gave him instructions. She brought him a pair of boots that pinched his toes and gave him blisters, but he wore them anyway because that was what he’d been given. Eventually the cooks figured out he was good with a blade and they set him to peeling potatoes and carrots as often as anything else.

He paid attention to the trivial chatter of the kitchens- who was sleeping with who, who was filching from the food stores, which page was about to become which knight’s squire. Listening was easier than thinking, working was easier than worrying.

There was a knight who came around sometimes, Sir Amnos, to flirt with the maids and beg sweets off the cooks. He was charming and handsome and Lotor could feel the man’s considering gaze on him at times. Sir Amnos tried to speak to him once or twice but Lotor ignored him and he returned to simply- watching.

Lotor didn’t concern himself with it, with any of it. By his count a month or two passed until he saw Coran again. The sight of the man’s distinctive red hair made Lotor’s breath catch in his throat. Coran meant _King Alfor,_ and when Coran motioned him over Lotor wiped his hands on a dish towel and followed even though his heart was pounding in his chest and his palms were growing sweaty.

He was led into a spacious study where Alfor was waiting for him, looking at him in a decidedly hostile manner. Lotor licked his lips as he wondered what was to be done with him.

“Come here, princeling,” Alfor said, motioning over to the desk.

Lotor stepped closer. What else could he do? He didn’t truly panic until Alfor grabbed his left wrist and pressed it to the desk, drawing a blade.

“Wait!” Lotor cried out as he realized what was happening, his voice coming out hoarse from disuse. “Wait! No-! What have I done? I swear, I won’t-”

“Calm yourself. You haven’t done anything,” Alfor said. “Your father wants proof that you yet live, so we’re sending him a finger. Just the one, and not from your dominant hand either. It won’t be so bad, and afterwards… I’m sure he won’t ask again.”

“Please!” Lotor cried out in horror. “You don’t have to do that, please- just let me-” He felt sick with himself for begging, for being afraid. Dayak had told him to be brave and strong and he was neither of those things.

“Let you what?” Alfor asked.

Lotor closed his eyes as he panted, trying to quell the wave of terror. “My father- this will only anger him. Please- he- he knows my hand. Let me write him a letter. I’ll- I’ll tell him I’m well treated here, I’ll tell him anything you like. But please- please don’t-”

Alfor seemed to consider it, and when he finally let go of his wrist Lotor fell back, staring at him in disbelief.

“Very well,” Alfor said. “You’ll write a letter. I’ll dictate it to you. If there’s any trickery on your part I’ll take your whole hand, do you understand?”

“Yes,” Lotor whispered, cradling his hand to his chest. “I understand.”

“Sit, then,” Alfor said, inclining his head towards the desk.

There was already a blank piece of parchment laid out beside a quill and a pot of ink and Lotor wondered if that had been what he’d really wanted all along, if the rest of it had just been a show for Lotor’s benefit. A threat- a show of force.

Lotor hunched his shoulders and ducked his head as he picked up the quill, momentarily shocked at how rough his hands looked compared to the elegant writing instrument. He was used to work, to swordplay; he’d had his share of injuries and calluses. Now his skin was dry and cracked, his knuckles bruised and scraped.

Sendak used to tell him he had beautiful hands, especially while Lotor played his lute or braided his hair or sketched in their scant quiet moments. Sendak would be horrified to see his hands now. He’d-

Lotor closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, visions of blood threatening to overwhelm him.

“What shall I write?” he asked. Briefly he considered addressing Alfor as _sire,_ but the thought of it was nearly enough to make him puke. _Sire_ was his father, not the man that had taken him. Alfor was not his King, he was nothing but his captor and Lotor would not dignify him with such respect. He had at least that much pride left in him.

He felt the decision like a key turning in a lock. They could have everything else of him, they could have his dignity, his body, the products of his toil. They could have everything they were strong enough to take. But no matter what, they would not take the memory of Sendak, and they would not take Zarkon. Lotor would never call Alfor sire, not even at the pain of death.

The decision brought some measure of relief. It was a line drawn, a wall built around the core of what he was. This far- and no further.

“Greet him like you usually would,” Alfor said, almost sounding bored.

 _Dear Father-_ Lotor wrote, moving carefully and slowly. He hadn’t written anything since his capture and it was a struggle to keep his hand steady.

The rest was dictated by Alfor and Lotor wrote down every lie as if it were his own.

_I am well treated here, as befits my station._

_I am doing well in my studies._

_I am content._

“One final thing,” Alfor said, staring thoughtfully out the window. “Write- worry not, father. Please do as King Alfor asks.”

Lotor’s lips quirked up into a faint smile. He’d never had the audacity to ask his father to do anything at all. Surely with that addition he’d understand the letter was written under duress. He obeyed nevertheless and wrote down Alfor’s words, almost as he asked.

_Worry not, father. Please do as Alfor asks._

Maybe he wasn’t brave or strong, but his will was unbroken and his father would be glad to see it. He carefully set the quill down and stood from the table. “May I go?”

“Yes,” Alfor said, still not quite looking at him. “We’ll send him another letter a month from now, then every month after that.”

“Very well,” Lotor said and turned to leave.

 

* * *

 

As the weeks passed Lotor continued being quietly obedient. He helped in the kitchens with prep work- peeling and slicing and chopping, scrubbing and polishing. Eventually they set him to doing laundry as well, and then to bringing fresh linens throughout the palace. The last chore brought him some measure of freedom, though it was a two edged sword.

He got to explore a bit, learn the layout of the palace and grounds. But he was often alone and it was nerve wracking to pass by Alfor’s knights and soldiers and courtiers as they watched him with mistrust and pity, glee and disdain.

Sir Amnos started making a nuisance of himself, trying to catch Lotor alone in the halls, trying to speak to him. Lotor ignored him up until the man tried to grab his ass, and then he made an effort to take unexpected paths through the palace to avoid him as he performed his chores.

It was on such a detour that he was passing by the main yard and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw red and gold- _Galra colors-_ out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see a wagon draped in red and gold, disappointed to see an Altean holding the lead of the horses. Servants rushed in to unload the wagon, large locked chests and heavy-looking satchels, other bulky items wrapped in canvas.

Lotor bit his lip as he stared. It was tribute. His father was paying tribute to Alfor. Never, in the centuries-long history of the Galra Kingdom, have any of their Kings paid tribute to their enemies. And now, because of Lotor, their once proud country was groveling at someone’s feet.

Unable to watch any longer, Lotor turned away. Zarkon was a proud man- this must have been killing him. The guilt was like a cold weight sitting unpleasantly in Lotor’s gut. He finished his chores in a stupor, wondering if he was only shaming his people further.

Should he be scheming? Fighting? Should he be looking for a way to destroy the Alteans the way they’d destroyed his home? Dayak had told him not to fight, but Dayak wasn’t here. He was alone with no one to guide him, not even a single companion, much less a friend.

That night he ate his supper in a stupor as the chatter of the kitchen maids washed over him. He was lost in his own troubled thoughts when a single word rang out like a bell and had him jerking to sit straighter in his seat.

“-battle of _Daibazaal_ was a slaughter. Those Galra savages overwhelmed the town-”

“-well of course! The people were just farm folk, and that monstrous King attacked them totally unprovoked-”

Lotor dropped his spoon into his bowl and stood from the table so abruptly his chair tipped over to the ground with a loud thud. Silence fell over the kitchen as everyone turned to look at him with fear in their eyes. He’d been so good at being obedient they’d forgotten who and what he truly was.

“What are you doing?” Romelle asked.

Lotor tightened his hands into fists and scowled, drawing himself up to his full height and straightening his back, setting his feet. He was a _prince_ and suddenly they could all see it.

“I’d rather starve than sit here and listen to these slanderous lies.”

They flinched away from him at the sound of his voice. None of them had heard it before. Lotor nearly flinched himself at how loud and clear the words sounded ringing through the frozen room.

“There was no _battle_ of Daibazaal. There was only treachery- perpetrated by _your_ monstrous King. My people are not savages, and I’ll not stand by while we’re accused of falsehoods.”

“Watch your tongue!” the head cook hissed, standing as well.

Lotor regarded the room coldly. “Daibazaal was a dam that stood between our two kingdoms. After a particularly heavy rain season, the reservoir on the Altean side was threatening to overflow and flood Altean gold mines. Alfor wanted to drain the reservoir but my father refused, as it would flood the Galra town just downstream.

“Your King decided that his gold was more important than our people’s lives. He destroyed the dam, and in so doing the town. Thousands of people died due to his actions.”

Lotor scowled harder. He could tell they didn’t believe him but that didn’t stop him. He’d say his piece and they’d sit there and listen, whether they believed or not. “I was in my father’s council when messengers came to tell us of Alfor’s treachery. I was at my father’s side when he marched his army to Daibazaal to survey the damage. It was horrific, and yes- my father retaliated. But think long and hard on who is the true monster here.”

Everyone seemed speechless until the cook spoke up, his eyes bulging and his face red with anger. “You- you- you arrogant fool-!”

“I am a _prince,”_ Lotor hissed. “And I will not be lied to about my own people by ignorant _cowards!”_

Lotor turned and stormed out, so angry he could hardly see straight. His hands were trembling as he made his way through the halls until he finally found himself in the garden at the heart of the palace. He stopped before the fountain in the center of the well-manicured paths, breathing hard as he stared into the water.

He only had a few moments of peace before he heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Sir Amnos walking up with a smile.

“Fancy seeing you out here all alone, princeling.”

Lotor tightened his hands into fists and held his ground, hot anger roiling in his gut. “I’m in no mood to deal with you.”

Sir Amnos’ eyes widened and he grinned. “So you _are_ capable of speech. I was wondering.”

He stepped closer until he was barely a handbreadth away and Lotor could feel the knight’s hot breath on his face.

“Such a pretty little thing,” he murmured, raising his fingertips to stroke Lotor’s cheek.

Lotor slapped his hand away before kneeing him in the balls and striking him in the face with his elbow. There was a crack and Amnos fell back with a grunt, stumbling. Lotor frowned- he’d been meaning to break the man’s nose but he could tell by the sound of it that he’d failed- and pressed his advantage. Lotor turned to kick Amnos in the gut to send him to the ground and stepped forward to press his boot to his neck.

Amnos simply smirked up at him, moving slowly to wipe the blood off his chin with his thumb. “Still feral, I see,” he said. “I look forward to taming you.”

Lotor bent to pull Amnos’ dagger from his belt and flipped it around a few times, admiring the way the metal shone in the moonlight. “If you touch me again,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “I’ll kill you.”

He threw the knife so it embedded itself into the ground a hair's breadth away from Amnos’ face and turned to leave, heading back to his tiny room.

Lotor felt like the anger simmering in his gut had burned the fog away.

As soon as possible, he stole a paring knife from the kitchens. He counted the sentries and marked the timing of their patrols. He did his stretches and exercises in his room as best he could, his encounter with Amnos having proven to him that he couldn’t afford to let his fighting skills get rusty.

Through it all he was still unsure what it was he was preparing for. There was little hope he could make it out of the palace- it was too well guarded. Briefly he considered attempting to kill Alfor during one of their monthly meetings, but that was too risky and unlikely to be successful. Lotor wouldn’t throw his life away for nothing; he owed that much to Sendak, who’d died trying to keep him safe.

The other servants treated him with even greater distrust after his outburst in the kitchens but he couldn’t care less. He kept himself busy with thoughts of revenge and escape, his mind racing as he considered and discarded possibilities. As he cored apples he wondered how many seeds it would take to make enough cyanide to poison a grown man. As he wandered the gardens he considered how difficult it would be to find hemlock, or better- arsenic. Arsenic poisoning was easy enough to arrange without arousing too much suspicion. It could be done slowly, over time...

But there was so little he could do alone, and he was so painfully alone.

Maybe that was why he started dreaming again after so many weeks of simple darkness. He dreamt of returning home, of being held safe in his father’s arms, of seeing their castle rebuilt and their kingdom returned to its former glory.

Most of all he dreamed of Sendak, the times they’d spent together laughing and racing their horses through the fields, or stayed by the fire on rainy days playing checkers or cards and eating sweetmeats. He dreamed of Sendak sneaking into his rooms in the middle of the night so they could slip off into town and walk through the night markets, or go to the tavern. They’d usually share a single mug of ale before stumbling home to the castle, giggling and leaning heavily on each other. They’d scrub pots together the next day as punishment, whispering gleefully about the adventures they’d gotten up to.

On good nights Lotor dreamed of the promise Sendak had made to him a lifetime ago- to become his sworn knight once Lotor came of age. They’d had such lofty dreams for the future. They’d go out adventuring together like proper knights, helping the poor and the weak, fighting bandits and monsters. When the time came, Sendak would back Lotor at the Kral Zera and Lotor would become the rightful King with Sendak as his right hand and closest advisor.

On bad nights Lotor dreamed of kissing Sendak, sloppy and desperate in a room that smelled of smoke and fear. He dreamed of pain and darkness and distant screaming.

He always woke from those dreams with tears on his cheeks and the taste of blood on his tongue.

 

* * *

 

Lotor was told he’d be serving at an upcoming banquet and it wasn’t until the day of that he found out what the banquet was for.

The anniversary of the treaty signed by the Galra.

Lotor felt numb as he put on his blue and white servant’s livery. Surely this was meant to be some joke, some insult, to make him serve at the banquet commemorating his own people’s defeat. He didn’t particularly care about that part. He cared that he’d been here a _year,_ now. A year of captivity and servitude, a year of knowing nothing about his people other than that his father yet lived.

A year of his life, gone.

Still, he didn’t complain or make a fuss. He stood at the back of the hall with the other servants while Alfor and his generals made grand speeches, and then he helped bring out platters of food and set them out on the tables. Afterwards they gave him a pitcher of wine and he walked between the tables refilling goblets without protest.

Sir Amnos was there, shooting him sly looks across the room and leaning close to smell Lotor’s hair when he leaned over to fill his cup. But he kept his hands to himself so Lotor ignored him as well as the rest of his disgusting friends. It was difficult to miss the sly jokes being made at his expense and equally difficult to care.

What did it matter to him what people said? He had more immediate concerns. His back hurt, his feet were aching. His knuckles were split again from endless hours of working with harsh soaps and detergents.

Perhaps most painful- three days ago he’d realized that his birthday had come and gone completely unmarked, even by himself.

It had always been such a grand occasion back home. They’d had such feasts that would make the banquet he was serving at look like a council meeting. They’d had acrobats that juggled fire while drummers beat out lively tunes, not old pathetic men giving boring toasts. Zarkon would have feast tables set up in the main yard of the castle and invite the common folk in to celebrate, not hoard his riches like Alfor.

There would be flowers on every surface and lanterns burning sweet-smelling oil, magnificent creations of spun sugar and iced honey buns piled up in towers as tall as Zarkon himself. By the end of the night everyone would be laughing and dancing-

Yet another general rose to make a dry toast about the glory of the Altean army Lotor sighed and went to refill his pitcher.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, maybe hours. The guests were growing increasingly drunk and unruly and all he wanted was to go back to the peaceful solitude of his room and put up his feet.

Sir Amnos waved him over for what felt like the tenth time and Lotor bit back a frustrated growl.

“-and then y’know what he said to me?” Amnos was telling his friends as Lotor walked up with the pitcher. “He said he’d kill me.”

They all broke out into riotous laughter and Lotor ignored them as he leaned over to fill Amnos’ goblet.

“Such coarse threats from such a pretty thing,” Amnos said with a grin and grabbed Lotor around the waist, pulling him into his lap.

Lotor dropped the pitcher in shock and it shattered on the flagstones, wine and broken crockery exploding in all directions. Amnos was still _touching_ him, dragging him closer. His hand was on the back of Lotor’s head, fisted in his hair. Lotor tried to jerk back with a wince but it was no use. His scalp burned as Amnos forced his lips against Lotor’s in a foul parody of a kiss.

Lotor felt as though time had stopped and the world was standing still.

Some common knight had dared touch him without his permission, dared take this from him. Worse than that- his last kiss had been with Sendak. He’d carried Sendak’s memory on his lips and now it had been wiped away by some foul stranger.

It felt like a part of his soul being ripped away. Somewhere in the distance there was laughter and Lotor’s vision went red with fury. He was burning up from the inside; he could smell smoke and blood.

He could hear screaming and suddenly Lotor realized he was standing.

He wasn’t sure what had happened but Amnos was slumped on the floor before him, a red gush of blood pouring from a deep gash in his throat. Lotor was holding the paring knife he’d stolen and breathing hard. It seemed he wasn’t imagining the screaming, it was all around him.

Slowly he forced himself to unclench his fingers, dropping the knife to the ground with a clatter before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He could taste blood on his lips and that was better than the wine that had been on Amnos’ breath.

He could hear footsteps approaching, guards. He looked up into the stunned and horrified faces of Amnos’ friends.

“I told him,” he said.

Someone took his arm and led him away.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

* * *

 

 

They left him in a cell in the dungeons, perhaps even the very same cell as those first few days. Lotor stared at the moldy pile of straw. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath, his vision was oddly blurry. He raised his hand to press it to his heart, shocked to feel how quickly it was beating.

He gasped in a breath and made a sound like a sob. His body was shaking. Was he crying? But no- he realized the horrific sound coming from him was- laughter. He laughed until his knees gave out and he found himself sitting on the ground with his back to the wall, clutching at his gut.

What had he _done?_

He’d killed one of Alfor’s knights at the very feast that was meant to celebrate how _defeated_ the Galra were, how utterly Altea had crushed them. And yet- their pathetic boy prince captive had killed a knight. So Lotor laughed.

It was utterly ridiculous, stupid. He’d been so stupid.

His hands were covered in blood and he stared at them numbly, picking at his nails as he waited for the sentence to be decided and passed down to him. He chuckled, his throat too sore for full-hearted laughter now.

They wouldn’t kill him, if they did they’d lose the leverage they held over Zarkon. They’d leave him at least one eye, at least one hand, so he could write his letters. Beyond that…

They could do anything.

He managed to drift off eventually and woke to guards at his door. They dragged him before Alfor, standing with his arms crossed over his chest. For once Coran was nowhere to be seen and Lotor wondered if that was a good sign or bad.

Alfor strode over and backhanded him over the face, sending him stumbling backwards a few steps.

“What did you think you were doing?” Alfor hissed.

There was blood filling Lotor’s mouth, he must have cut the inside of his cheek on one of his teeth. He spit it out onto the floor, making Alfor take a hasty step back.

“I was doing you a favor,” Lotor said slowly, pressing his hand to his smarting cheek. “Unless you pride yourself on having knights that take liberties with your servants?”

“You’re not a servant, you’re a prisoner,” Alfor said coldly. “You’d do well to remember that.”

He turned and walked to his desk as Lotor waited to see what he’d say next.

“We can’t execute you, obviously. But you’ll be punished. Public flogging, to be carried out immediately.”

Lotor’s mouth went dry with fear. “How many lashes?”

“How many lashes is a man’s life worth?” Alfor looked at him coldly.

Lotor stayed silent, knowing it was some sort of trap. Maybe Alfor wanted to know what Lotor thought would be a lot, so he could order more. Or maybe he was expecting Lotor to try to bargain him down, or-

It didn’t matter. Lotor tightened his lips into a thin line as the soldiers took him by the arms again. “I can walk on my own,” he bit out.

Alfor nodded and they let him go.

He followed them, trying to enjoy the way the people they passed shrank back from him in fear but it just made him sick. His palms were sweating and his knees were shaking but he forced his back into the perfect upright posture, walking with as much dignity as he could muster. They took him to a raised dais in the yard and he tried not to look at the assembled crowd, the familiar faces gleefully waiting for his punishment to begin.

They pulled off his shirt and bid him to kneel. As he let them tie his wrists to heavy iron rings set into the wooden platform he closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe deeply. He tried to recall that night, a year ago now, when he’d pulled Sendak into a kiss. He tried to recall how his lips had felt, and instead the memory of last night came unbidden, Amnos-

Lotor frowned, gritting his teeth. He tried to force the memory of Sendak to return, solidify. He remembered the smoke and the fear, the battering on the door. He remembered the firelight spilling through the shutters, but the rest- he couldn’t remember what the rest had felt like, not without other thoughts intruding.

He’d dreamt of it often enough, thought of it- surely there must have been some shred of sense memory left-

Tears slipped down his face as he realized it was gone.

And then the whipping began.

Lotor gasped involuntarily at the first lash, tensing as a line of fire drew itself over his back. The second came and he grunted in pain. He tried to tell himself he’d had worse. He’d broken his leg once, falling out of a tree when he was just eight years old-

Another flash of agonizing fire scored his back, blasting the thoughts from his mind. He whimpered and realized with horror that he wouldn’t be able to stay silent during this. By the fifth lash he was screaming.

He kept screaming after that, weeping as he waited for it to be over, prayed for it to be over. He didn’t know how many lashes he’d have to endure. Maybe that was part of the punishment- not seeing the end in sight. Eventually he must have blacked out because he woke lying on the platform alone.

Night had fallen and it was freezing cold. Had they simply left him to lie here after the whipping? If he wasn’t so exhausted and woozy from the pain he might have been angry. At the moment he simply couldn’t manage it

There was a man before him, struggling to untie his hands from the metal rings. The ropes were covered in dried blood and he scowled as he pulled at the stiff knots. Lotor could only watch as the man pulled out his dagger and started sawing through the ropes, his mouth set in a tight line.

Lotor blinked slowly, confused. The man had pale skin and white hair cropped into a mohawk, but something about him read _Galra_ in some inexplicable way. Maybe the wide set of his shoulders, or his sharp cheekbones and jawline. He had amber eyes, like Sendak did. Like Sendak had.

Lotor sighed sharply, gritting his teeth.

“You’re awake?” the stranger asked. His voice was low with a pleasant rumbling quality. It reminded Lotor of his father’s voice, when he’d used to read him bedtime stories when he was little. He’d been so happy then, so sure that the world was a beautiful place full of wonders. And now he was lying shirtless and bloodied on the ground, alone in enemy territory. He’d been so wrong.

“My name is Ulaz,” the stranger continued, undeterred by Lotor’s silence. “I’m a medic. I’m here to help you.”

He finally managed to saw through the ropes binding Lotor’s right wrist. Lotor made as if to pull his arm to his chest but the slightest movement made the ever-present pain flare up into agony and he whimpered, falling still.

“Don’t move,” Ulaz said. “As soon as I get this off I’ll help you sit up and give you something for the pain, for sleep.”

“Is that allowed?” Lotor asked, his voice hoarse from screaming.

Ulaz paused, frowning. And then he leaned forward to stroke Lotor’s hair, looking at him seriously. “I won’t tell if you won’t, little prince,” he whispered.

Lotor frowned at that, at being called _little prince._ Only his people called him that, not these Altean strangers. Maybe he was delirious. Maybe Ulaz was trying to trick him somehow, get him to slip up-

Everything hurt too much to try and puzzle it out. The best he could do at the moment was simply to stay silent and not make everything worse.

He screamed when Ulaz helped him sit up, but then Ulaz was handing him a bottle full of a strange milky substance and he drank the bitter potion without protest. Soon enough his body grew numb and his vision blurry, and he was dragged back into merciful unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

The next few days passed in a haze of pain and drugs, and as Lotor’s strength returned he wasn’t sure how long he’d been in the infirmary under Ulaz’s care. The man seemed kind enough, gentle enough. He was careful as he changed Lotor’s bandages; he wasn’t cruel and didn’t ask questions beyond _is this bandage too tight_ or _would you like more medicine_.

Lotor still didn’t trust him. His name, his eyes, his voice- they all pointed to the fact that he was Galra, or at least part Galra. It couldn’t be a coincidence he was the one taking care of Lotor. Maybe Alfor thought he’d lower his guard if he was around someone familiar, someone who felt like… home.

He didn’t know what the point of getting him to lower his guard would be. It wasn’t as though he had any secrets to share, not now. If that was what they wanted from him they would have tortured it out of him a year ago. Now he knew nothing of any worth. He knew nothing at all.

He had fever dreams of his father, of Dayak, of blood and smoke. He dreamed of Sendak too, but his face seemed oddly blurry, fading away into the dark of Lotor’s subconscious. It had been so long that Lotor could hardly picture him clearly anymore aside from small flashes that stood out like gems in his memory.

Sendak laughing as they ate peaches in the gardens. Sendak’s hand, pointing at a brightly colored fish swimming in a pond. Sendak standing on the parapets with the wind ruffling his chestnut hair, turning when he heard Lotor approaching and breaking out into a wide grin when he saw who it was. Lotor remembered the warmth of Sendak’s hand as he helped him down from the saddle of his horse, and the quiet sound of his even breathing when he’d fallen asleep while Lotor had been practicing his lute by the fire.

But those were just brightly colored facets of a shattered crystal. Lotor couldn’t picture the whole of him anymore. He was just a ghost, slowly fading into nothingness no matter how hard Lotor tried to keep him in his grasp.

He’d promised himself he wouldn’t let it happen but now his heart was just a smoking ruin.

When he grew well enough Coran came to visit, standing in the corner of the infirmary with his arms folded behind his back as he explained what would happen next.

Lotor was too dangerous to be around others. His time in the kitchens was over, his time performing chores in the palace was over. He’d be assigned a new task, helping tend the gardens in the center of the palace. He would work there, sleep there, and stay there- forevermore.

 

* * *

 

There was a small cabin in a hidden corner of the garden- if it could be called a cabin. It was more like a shed, for the groundskeeper. But it had a cot, and a window, and a writing desk. It even had a rickety chair and strange odds and ends laid out over the shelves built into one of the walls. The planks making up the walls had gaps in them, letting in the cold wind, and the roof leaked.

But the lock on the door was on the inside rather than the outside, and as Lotor laid sleepless on the cot at night he could hear nightbirds singing close by.

During the days they had him weeding and planting. They didn’t trust him with shears to trim the hedges but they gladly handed him a shovel to dig ditches, as though he couldn’t do even more damage with what amounted to a dull spear than an overgrown pair of scissors.

He didn’t cause trouble and mostly he was left alone. He tried not to make it obvious how much he enjoyed the work, the fresh air, the flowers all around him and the cool earth under his hands. This was better than the kitchens by far, peaceful and quiet away from the stares and whispers.

His hands slowly grew supple again now that he wasn’t handling caustic soaps and detergents daily, though now he always seemed to be covered with a faint coating of earth. It crept under his fingernails and into his hair, into his clothes and even in his mouth, leaving his teeth feeling gritty.

He tried not to think of Sendak anymore, it hurt too badly. He couldn’t think of his father, either. Not without imagining what his father would say to see him living like this, how he’d rage.

One night he had a dream that Dayak came to visit him, looking around the tiny shack with her nose upturned with disgust. _“This is how you’re living, little prince? Disgraceful.”_

She kept scolding him until he woke at sunrise. That day, after he’d finished his chores, he spent the evening sweeping and scrubbing the floor, dusting the shelves. He used hay to plug the holes in the walls and contemplated what he’d do about the roof.

The small improvements kept him busy and soon enough the little shack was warm and pleasant. He didn’t want to think of it as _home,_ that was a place far away and forever lost to him. But at least now when he dreamed of Dayak visiting she didn’t scold him anymore. Instead they drank tea and talked of nonsense and sometimes Lotor woke smiling.

Time slipped past him and he didn’t mark it. He simply stayed in the gardens and weeded the flower beds.

He was getting ready for bed one night when there was a knock on his door. He answered it to find two guards waiting. Had he done something wrong? Disobeyed in some way? He couldn’t think of anything but in the end that didn’t matter. He followed the guards through the palace until they showed him into a lavish bedchamber.

There was a tub of steaming water and beyond it- Alfor.

Lotor’s blood ran cold as he thought of the last time he’d been in a similar situation.

“Your father,” Alfor started, his voice brittle with irritation, “has insisted that your coming of age be celebrated in traditional barbaric Galra fashion. He’s made quite the nuisance of himself, and despite my better judgement I’ve decided to grant his request.”

Lotor could only stare, hardly believing what he was hearing.

“Tomorrow we’ll be holding the tournament, so you’d best be presentable. Bathe now, and in the morning dress in the clothing that has been provided to you.” Alfor motioned towards a chest standing on the table.

“These rooms are yours for the time being. I trust you to comport yourself… correctly. Do you understand?”

Lotor didn’t understand at all, but he nodded anyway.

“Good.” Alfor nodded and left, taking his soldiers with him.

Suddenly Lotor was alone in the lavish rooms, still trying to wrap his head around what had just happened. His coming of age was… _tomorrow?_

And- they were celebrating it. And- he was to bathe, and dress in fine clothes, and-

Lotor hurried over to the door to latch it before throwing his clothes off and sinking into the tub with a quiet hiss. How long had it been since he’d had a proper bath, rather than just wiping himself off with a wet washcloth and rinsing his hair in the fountain?

Two years.

As the realization washed over him, Lotor froze. His heart ached and he couldn’t catch his breath. He bit at the inside of his cheek hard enough to break the skin and gasped as blood flooded his mouth.

Somehow that snapped him out of his stupor and he took a deep breath, focusing on the present. There was a small basket hooked over the edge of the tub containing pretty little soaps and fragrant oils, an array of brushes.

Lotor was slow and methodical as he scrubbed the dirt from his skin and from under his fingernails. He washed his hair thoroughly, luxuriating in the feeling of his hair running through his fingers like silk. By the time he was finished the water had grown cold and still he hardly wanted to climb out. Eventually he did it anyway, drying himself off with a sheet waiting folded up on a chair nearby.

Some strange movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he turned to see a painting-

Except no, it wasn’t a painting. It was a mirror, and Lotor found himself looking at his own reflection for the first time in two years.

He swallowed as he walked closer, not quite able to believe his eyes. Everything about him looked different. He was taller, for one. His shoulders were broader, the muscles in his chest and arms more defined. His hair was longer than he’d expected, reaching past his shoulders. And his face- he could hardly recognize the face staring back at him.

The last time he’d seen himself his face had been round and soft, but now he was all hard angles and sharp cheekbones. There was a small scar on his chin and he traced it thoughtfully, not sure where it had come from. His eyes seemed strangely unfamiliar as well, too bright, too- _blue._ Had his eyelashes always been this long?

He bit his lip as he stared, captivated. He wondered what his back looked like, if he had scars-

He sighed sharply and turned away. He didn’t want to see or know. Instead he walked over to the bed and climbed in under the sheets, still nude. The soft linens felt so fine against his skin, smelled so fresh and clean. The pillow was impossibly soft under his head.

He’d nearly forgotten what this was like, forgotten that this was what his life had used to be. A wave of emotion rose through him, carrying him away until he wasn’t sure what it was he was feeling. A mixture of joy and sorrow, longing and dread.

These were his rooms “for the time being.” Once this dream was over he’d return to being nothing.

 

* * *

 

In the morning Lotor woke at dawn and walked past the still-full tub to the table and the chest waiting upon it. He opened it and laid out the garments reverently, running his fingers over the fine fabrics.

Slowly he got dressed, pulling on blue leggings and a blue silk shirt with long narrow sleeves that went past his wrists. There was a long white sleeveless tunic to go over it. It reached to his knees and was slashed at the sides, the slits going up nearly to his hips. Small pearl buttons went down the front and it was embroidered with elaborate patterns in blue silk and tiny glass beads. There were slippers of supple leather with a low heel and silver gauntlets. Finally there was a small pouch of jewelry- silver rings with sapphire studs, lapis bracelets and crystal drop earrings. Lotor left the jewelry alone, going back to the mirror.

He felt sick as he looked at himself decked out in Altean colors. Nevertheless, that was what he’d been given. He did his best to fix his hair in the traditional Galra style at least- two braids starting at his temples and sweeping back to join at the back of his head- struggling to keep it neat.

If he were back home he wouldn’t be doing this alone, he’d have Dayak to help him, maybe even his father. They’d braid gold beads into his hair and tie it off with red ribbons. Dayak would help him line his eyes with khol and dust his cheeks with gold powder and he’d be wearing red robes with ceremonial armor on top- gold pauldrons and a wide leather belt embellished with gold rings, thigh-high boots studded with gold plates.

Tears welled up in Lotor’s eyes and slipped down his cheeks. He wiped them away furiously, feeling like the most ungrateful brat to have ever walked the earth. This day was a gift to him from his father. Even if he was forced to wear Altean colors, even if he was forced to go through this rite of passage alone- it was still better than spending this day, the day he became a man in the eyes of his people and their gods, digging in the dirt. Forgotten and unmarked, unremarkable.

Somehow he managed to pull himself together and finished getting ready before going out to stand on the balcony. How funny- the balcony looked out onto the gardens and he could see the roof of his little shack in the distance. It was the closest thing he had to home, the place he was destined to return to once this day was over.

He’d come to like it, somewhat. He’d made it comfortable enough- warm and tidy and dry. He’d woven rugs from strips of old rags to cover the pitted wooden floor and used clay to patch the leaks in the roof. He’d taken to stealing flowers from the garden too, keeping them in rough clay pots on the windowsill. Looking at it now, it all seemed so painfully sad and pathetic.

There was a knock on the door and he felt oddly grateful to be startled out of his thoughts. With another glance at himself in the mirror to make sure he looked presentable he unlatched the door and stepped out into the hall.

The soldiers did a visible double-take at the sight of him and he tried to enjoy their discomfort as he forced himself into a princely posture. He couldn’t afford to forget what he was, who was, now more than ever.

They took him to the training yard, which had been converted to a tournament space. There were stands set up to either side of the field for the audience already waiting, and a raised dais at the head of the arena for Alfor and his court, and of course for Lotor. The atmosphere did seem somewhat festive, at least. There were white and blue banners flying on posts at the perimeter of the field and vendors hawking food and drinks to the audience.

Lotor suddenly realized he hadn’t had breakfast and wondered if that was supposed to be some punishment from Alfor- to remind him of his place despite the fact that Zarkon had somehow strong-armed him into arranging this.

No one was on the raised dais yet but the soldiers showed him to his seat on the edge of the platform and he folded his hands in his lap as he waited. He wondered what the tournament would be like, with all Altean fighters. In theory the purpose of the whole event was to select the man or woman that would become his sworn knight, though he had no clue what it would be in practice.

Most likely there would be some games, perhaps some jousting. Maybe there’d be a sword fight or two and then a banquet afterwards. Lotor wondered if he’d be allowed to attend or if he’d be sent back to his exile of sorts, back to the gardens. After what had happened at the last banquet, Lotor wouldn’t be surprised to be sent away as soon as the tournament was over.

A horn rang out and Lotor didn’t bother standing as Alfor and his wife walked up to take their seats on the dais, trailed by their entourage.

This was when Zarkon would have given a speech about how proud he was to have a son like Lotor, when he’d list his accomplishments. Of course Alfor would do no such thing and Lotor wondered what his father would say, were he here.

 _Was_ his father proud of him? How could he be, given the position Lotor had put him in? He loved him still, at least. That much Lotor had no doubt of. But deep down he wondered if Zarkon considered him a private shame, a burden. What accomplishments did Lotor even have that were worth listing?

He was particularly accomplished at scrubbing floors and weeding. He could peel potatoes faster than any of the kitchen maids or cooks. He’d managed not to bleed to death after his whipping. Four days ago he’d finished carving a rather fine figurine of a cat out of a piece of wood using a bent rusty nail. It had taken him nearly a month.

He drifted off into idle daydreams as Altean knights paraded across the field and waved to the audience, only to be startled by the sound of lively drumming approaching, getting louder with each second. He sat up straighter, confused. That was- that was a _Galra_ drum song. But-

He gasped as he saw a troupe of drummers in Galra colors walking forward. Someone played a triumphant shivering note on a horn and the drummers parted, revealing six knights wearing full Galra armor marching down the field. Lotor’s heart caught in his throat. He could tell by their builds, their wide shoulders- these were true Galra, not just Alteans in costume.

Before he knew how it had happened he was standing, clutching at the railing of the dais as he watched the knights approach.

They were all wearing gold-plated armor trimmed in red, but each wore a cloak in a different color, representing the major gods of the Galra pantheon. Each of their helmets bore a ridge as sharp as any blade, and from it cascaded a mantle of red feathers. They were fearsome to behold as they walked forward, each at least a head taller than the tallest Altean on the field.

They stopped before the dais in a neat row and slowly Lotor realized they were waiting for _him._ As he walked down the steps towards them he felt like he was in some beautiful dream, his heart thrumming with excitement.

He stopped before the first knight, the man in the black cloak that represented the god of the night and the afterlife, and the knight knelt on the ground before pulling off his helmet and offering it up.

“Prince Lotor,” he said in a low rumbling voice. No one had called him _prince_ in two years and the address sounded strange and beautiful. “Sir Antok, at your service. Please allow me the honor of fighting for the privilege of being your sworn knight.”

Lotor took his helmet, his whole body numb but somehow buzzing. He was speechless, but then he swallowed and found his voice. “Rise, Sir Antok,” he managed, his voice hoarse from disuse. The man rose and Lotor looked down at the helmet in his hands. He pressed a kiss to its forehead before offering it back. “You have my blessing in this fight.”

Antok took the helmet and put it back on before hitting his chest with his fist and shouting, “vrepit sa!”

Lotor moved down the line, towards a smaller knight wearing blue to represent the goddess of the ocean, who knelt in turn.

“Prince Lotor,” the knight said in a decidedly feminine voice. Whispers erupted throughout the audience as she took off her helmet and offered it up. “Sir Acxa, at your service. Please allow me the honor of fighting for the privilege of being your sworn knight.”

“Rise, Sir Acxa,” Lotor said, smiling so widely his cheeks hurt. He kissed her helmet before offering it back. “You have my blessing in this fight.”

Next was Sir Bogh in purple to represent the moon, then Sir Zethrid in green for the earth. Sir Haxus was in red to honor the god of fire, and finally Lotor reached the knight in the gold cloak- the sun.

He knelt, and when he took off his helmet Lotor could only stare as the world crashed down on him.

“Prince Lotor,” Sendak said, looking up at him with such fierce love in his amber eyes that Lotor’s heart skipped a beat. It couldn’t be him, and yet-

He was breathtaking. His features had grown sharp and strong over the past two years and the only sign that he’d ever been injured at all was a thin scar over his face, starting at his forehead and crossing his eyebrow before ending just past his cheekbone.

“Sir Sendak,” Sendak said, as though Lotor didn’t know who he was. As though Lotor hadn’t been dreaming of him, mourning him, aching for him all this time. “At your service.”

Lotor took Sendak’s helmet in a stupor, sure that this was some sort of impossible vision. But the helmet was solid in his hands and no matter how long he stared, Sendak remained kneeling before him rather than fading away.

“Please allow me the honor of fighting for the privilege of being your sworn knight.”

He was alive. He was alive. Alive- alive- _alive!_

Lotor’s hands were shaking as he gripped Sendak’s helmet. He was alive. He was here, and he was alive.

He opened his mouth to speak and no words came out. His vision was blurry and he blinked furiously to hold back tears.

“Rise, Sir Sendak,” Lotor whispered and Sendak slowly got to his feet.

Lotor drank in the sight of him- powerful and strong, young and beautiful. His heart was beating so hard he thought it may jump out of his throat. He swallowed heavily to try and regain his composure but it was no use.

Alive- alive- _alive!_

Lotor couldn’t look away from Sendak’s eyes as he pulled his hand along the sharp ridge of Sendak’s helmet, slicing into his palm. He curled his hand into a fist to coat it with blood and pressed it to Sendak’s chest to leave behind a red handprint, marking him as the favorite to win and signaling to the other fighters to gracefully bow out. Of course, the Alteans didn’t know that. The people in the audience whispered and murmured to each other uneasily- no doubt Lotor’s actions must have looked ominous, even barbaric to them.

Lotor didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything other than Sendak before him.

“You have my blessing in this fight,” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady.

He handed the helmet back and Sendak took it and put it on before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a red handkerchief. Lotor offered his hand and fought not to swoon as Sendak wrapped the cloth around his palm to stem the flow of blood. Sendak’s hands were warm and strong, so much bigger now than when Lotor had seen him last. Everything about him was bigger now and all Lotor wanted to do was embrace him and feel Sendak’s arms around him.

“You honor me, Prince Lotor,” Sendak murmured before removing his cloak and draping it over Lotor’s shoulders, a gesture meant to signal he accepted Lotor's favor. It also meant that now Lotor wore _Galra_ colors for this ceremony- the red of the handkerchief to soak up his blood, the gold of the cloak to cover up Altean white and blue. Sendak lingered a moment before drawing away, brushing Lotor’s face with his fingertips as if by accident. When he stepped backwards Lotor did the same, else he might have done something stupid, like kiss him right then and there, in front of everybody.

Turning away and walking up the stairs was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, but he managed it by fisting his uninjured hand in Sendak’s cloak. It smelled of sandalwood and smoke, it smelled of Sendak and _home._

After he was seated again Alfor stood and gave some speech that Lotor couldn’t pay attention to. He could only stare at Sendak, still standing before the raised dais. There was some sort of signal and the Altean knights joined the field before Alfor raised his fist and the tournament began.

The first event was to be a free-for-all melee, but of course the lines of battle were immediately drawn- Galra against Alteans.

The Alteans had the Galra outnumbered nearly three to one and they fought fiercely, not wanting to be shown up before their own people. But the Galra banded together quickly, rallying around Sendak without having to be told. He was the favorite to win- they’d make sure he made it to the next round at the cost of their own glory.

Lotor couldn’t help smiling as he watched the showing of skill and strength. Even outnumbered, the Galra were a terror on the field, beating back their opponents ruthlessly. The Altean audience grew somber as they watched knight after knight falling on the field to be disqualified and slink away.

Bogh was the first to fall among the Galra, stepping in to block a sword swipe aimed at Sendak’s back. He punched the Altean knight who’d taken him out of the running in the helmet with his gloved fist before walking away to wait on the sideline. Acxa fell next, but only after defeating three fighters at once with a particularly showy acrobatic move. Haxus fell after, caught in the back while he was fighting off two knights to protect Sendak’s flank. By the time the field had been narrowed to the eight finalists there were three Galra left standing- a good enough result considering their starting odds.

And of course- Sendak was still in the running. He pulled off his helmet, clearly breathing hard as he caught Lotor’s gaze. He nodded and Lotor nodded back, his heart full to bursting with joy.

There was a short break afterwards as the defeated fighters got the chance to change out of their armor and into more comfortable clothes before returning to the field to sit in the audience. The Galra sat apart from everyone else- Bogh, Acxa, and Haxus all wearing red cloaks now over leather traveling clothes.

Soon enough the one-on-one matches began. The Galra were pitted against Altean knights, and all three of them moved on to the next round. Sendak and Antok were the semi-finalists and there was another break before the final match.

Some of the audience members were leaving, disgruntled at seeing their warriors defeated. Alfor seemed tense as well, though he maintained a blank dignified mask.

For the final match the Galra drummers returned to the field and started beating out a lively tune. Lotor’s palms were sweating with anticipation. He didn’t know why he felt so nervous but his heart was stuttering in his chest and it was a struggle to keep his breathing slow and even. He was swept up in the excitement of it all. The sun was low on the horizon, bathing the field in soft golden light.

The tempo of the drumming changed as Sendak walked back out onto the field, Antok beside him. They were shirtless and barefoot, wearing red wraps around their hips. Antok had put on his plumed helmet and Sendak just had a decorative golden pauldron on his right shoulder. He was wearing armbands and anklets, a belt glittering with gold studs. Lotor gripped the armrests of his seat so he wouldn’t stand and walk closer.

Sendak was glorious and handsome, grinning as he looked up to the dais. He held a wicked curved blade in each hand and he raised one in a salute before Antok did the same. The drumming changed again and the fight began.

Lotor bit his lip as he stared at the beautiful dance before him- because it was more of a dance than a fight. Perhaps it looked fearsome to the Alteans all around him but he recognized the practice forms and traditional patterns. Despite the loud clanging of swords, the sparks they threw up with each brutal blow, Sendak and Antok were mostly just showing off. Neither was going in for the win; they circled each other and took turns attacking- using the sorts of impractical acrobatic moves that neither would use in a real fight.

It was impressive and spectacular and Lotor smiled as he watched. This whole show was meant to remind the Alteans that the Galra were powerful and proud, strong and fearsome. And it was a show meant for him as well, to honor him. He certainly felt honored, like more of a prince than he’d felt in a long time. He also felt uncomfortably warm as he watched the rippling muscles over Sendak’s back, his torso. His skin was covered in a glistening sheen of sweat and he grunted as he blocked a particularly hard blow from Antok before elegantly twisting away from the follow-up strike.

Lotor bit his lip and held tighter to Sendak’s cloak still draped over his shoulders. The fight started winding down and finally Sendak grinned and shouted as he rushed Antok.

Antok stepped back, raising his blades defensively. When Sendak struck, Antok let his weapons fall to the ground, stepping back with a small nod of respect. It was over.

The drums fell silent and Lotor rose and walked back down to the field. Sendak dropped his weapons and strode towards him, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath after the spirited fight. He dropped to his knees before Lotor and ducked his head.

“Sire,” he panted. “I vow to put your honor before my own, your life before my own. I vow to stand behind you and obey you, now and forever more.”

Lotor reached out to touch the top of Sendak’s head, his mouth going dry as he steeled himself to recite the proper response. “I cannot accept such a vow,” he said.

Sendak looked up at him, waiting silently for Lotor to continue. His amber eyes seemed to shine with an inner light even in the darkness and suddenly the two of them were the only people in the world.

“I would not ask you to dishonor yourself or sacrifice yourself. I would not ask you to follow me or serve me.”

“What would you ask of me?” Sendak whispered.

“Vow to be faithful to me before all others,” Lotor said, pitching his voice low so only Sendak could hear. “Vow to be strong and honest, loyal and brave. Vow to stand beside me rather than behind me, and to obey only those commands that you consider honorable and just.”

Sendak reached out to take his right hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles above the makeshift bandage of the red handkerchief. “I do so vow, and gladly.”

“I accept your vow,” Lotor said, shivering at the feeling of Sendak’s fingers wrapped so gently around his wrist. “And in return I vow to listen to you before all others, to trust and obey you before all others. I vow to be fair and true, to stand beside you rather than before you and to never ask anything of you that would dishonor you. You may rise, Sir Sendak. I’m honored that you would serve as my sworn knight.”

Sendak stood, taking Lotor’s other hand too and leaning down towards him. “Lotor, I-” he started. Lotor leaned towards him, his heart pounding in his chest. He just wanted-

A horn rang out, shattering the illusion that they were alone. They jerked apart in shock, both turning to look up at the dais where Alfor was standing with his hands clasped behind his back. “Now that the tournament has concluded, we shall proceed to the banquet.”

“Sendak,” Lotor whispered, blinking back tears. He just wanted a moment- couldn’t they just have a _moment?_ But someone was taking him by the arm and pulling him back- Alfor’s men.

“This way, Prince Lotor,” one of them said like it was a struggle to address him with the proper respect.

Sendak scowled, looking furious as he glared at the Altean soldiers taking him away. His hands were curled into fists and Antok stepped up to stand beside him, holding him by the shoulder and leaning in to whisper something in his ear. Sendak nodded, just once, and then Lotor and his escorts were engulfed in the crowd.

 

* * *

 

 

To his great surprise, Lotor was allowed to attend the banquet. He guessed it wouldn’t have looked very good if he weren’t there, but they could have easily lied and said he was feeling unwell or something of the sort. But Sendak might have demanded to see him then, and there would have been a scene. This was easier to control- Lotor sitting at the head table while Sendak and the other Galra knights were gathered at their designated seats- all the way on the other end of the hall.

Lotor wasn’t sure if it was kindness or cruelty, being able to see but not to touch, being in the same room and yet so far away. The food set before him was far more lavish than what he’d grown used to but he found he had no appetite. He forced himself to eat anyway, trying to enjoy what he could of what was left of this night.

He tried to be happy, tried to remember the joy he’d felt when he’d first seen the Galra enter the field, when he’d seen Sendak taking off his helmet. He tried to remember the joy he’d felt as the Galra proved themselves on the field of battle and as Sendak knelt before him and recited his vow. If nothing else- he truly was Lotor’s sworn knight now, just like they’d always dreamed. Not quite how they’d dreamed, perhaps- but still. It was something.

As Lotor watched Sendak across the room he couldn’t help feeling greedy and selfish. It wasn’t enough. Nothing could ever be enough, nothing less than holding Sendak in his arms, returning _home-_

But that might never happen. This might be it- the last time he saw Sendak at all. And he was across the room and Lotor was stuck sitting next to some nameless knight at Alfor’s table.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed but eventually the soldiers returned to urge him to stand. Lotor looked up at Sendak one last time only to see him rising to his feet. The other Galra tried to grab him but he shook them off, striding forward as the hall fell silent and grew tense.

“What is the meaning of this?” Alfor demanded as Sendak walked closer.

“I have the right to escort my master to his bedchamber,” Sendak said with a glare. “Sire?” he asked, turning to Lotor and offering his arm.

“Thank you Sir Sendak,” Lotor whispered and took it. He pressed closer than strictly necessary as they walked through the halls, flanked by half a dozen of Alfor’s soldiers.

“Here you are, Prince Lotor,” one of the soldiers said when he’d been brought back to the rooms from the previous night.

“Thank you,” Lotor said, looking up into Sendak’s eyes.

“Good night, sire,” Sendak said, and then the soldiers were opening the door and ushering him inside and Lotor was left standing in the room alone, breathing hard as he pressed his forehead to the cold wood. He could still feel the warmth of Sendak’s hand under his, the rumble of Sendak’s voice. He still had Sendak’s cloak around his shoulders and Sendak’s handkerchief tied around his hand.

He tried to wrap himself up in the feeling of Sendak with him, around him, but that only made him feel more alone. Finally he stepped back with a quiet sigh and turned away.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

* * *

 

They’d refilled the bath with hot water and Lotor stepped towards it, thinking he may as well bathe while he had the chance. He folded up Sendak’s cloak carefully and set it within reach before stripping off the Altean garments and returning them to the chest.

He winced as he climbed into the bath and unwrapped the handkerchief from his hand. The bleeding had stopped long ago; the cut hadn’t been very deep. It still stung when Lotor lowered his hand into the water. He ignored the pain as he washed. He’d had worse.

Afterwards he dried himself off and put on a blue silk robe that had been draped over one of the chairs before sitting at the table to stroke Sendak’s cloak thoughtfully. He couldn’t bear to sleep. He didn’t want this day to be over, he wanted to hold on to it for just a little longer.

He startled at a small sound against the door leading out onto the balcony. He didn’t see anything but then it came again- a quiet clatter like a pebble against the glass. His heart was pounding as he rose and went out, tightening his hands over the railing before looking down.

Sendak was below, staring up at him wide-eyed as he dropped a handful of small stones to the ground. Lotor didn’t hesitate to bend down and offer him his hand.

Sendak grasped his forearm firmly and Lotor _heaved,_ sure that he wouldn’t be able to pull up Sendak’s weight even as he managed it. Sendak grabbed the railing with his free hand and gritted his teeth as he swung a leg over, and then he was standing before him.

“Sendak,” Lotor whispered, shaking as he stepped forward to fist his hands in Sendak’s leather jerkin. For a moment they just stared at each other, frozen and afraid to even breathe. The tension shattered when Sendak surged forward to grab his face and take his mouth in a bruising kiss.

Lotor grunted and stumbled backwards in surprise but Sendak wrapped his arms around his waist and lifted him up, dragging him close. Lotor shut his eyes and wrapped his arms around Sendak’s neck, his legs around Sendak’s hips. Sendak was so powerful and warm, so different than he’d been when last they’d seen each other and yet so completely the same.

Sendak sank one of his hands into Lotor’s damp hair, tightening it into a fist and pulling Lotor’s head back before dragging his lips over Lotor’s neck. Lotor whimpered, fighting to catch his breath and still not quite sure this was really happening. Sendak was _here._ He was alive, and he was here, and _kissing_ him-

 _“Sendak,”_ Lotor gasped, overcome by emotion. He was overwhelmed with desire and joy and- fear. “Not here,” he whispered. “Not- not out here. Please-”

Sendak took his weight easily as he walked them back into the room and lowered Lotor to the bed, still kissing him. Lotor fumbled at the latches of his clothing and Sendak pulled back with an impatient growl to practically rip his clothes off before falling on him again.

Lotor pulled him close, moaning as he felt Sendak’s weight on top of him, the heat of his muscular body. Sendak slid his hands inside the robe he was wearing before pulling it open, and then they were pressed together skin to skin and it was the best thing he’d ever felt.

 _“Lotor,”_ Sendak growled, his voice desperate and full of need.

Lotor could only gasp and hold on tighter, fisting his hands in Sendak’s hair and dragging him close. Their kisses were wet and sloppy and inelegant but somehow perfect all the same. He wasn’t alone, _Sendak_ was here- alive, alive, _alive._

“Gods,” Sendak whispered. “Lotor-”

He shoved Lotor’s thighs open wider and settled between. Lotor could only gasp at the feeling of Sendak’s cock pressed against his own, like hot iron wrapped in velvet and silk- somehow the most beautiful thing he’d ever felt. He wanted this so badly, he wanted _Sendak_ so badly.

Sendak wrapped his hand around the both of them and Lotor bit his lip so he wouldn’t cry out. He whimpered as Sendak stroked them, whimpered at the feeling of Sendak’s calloused palm moving over him.

It was so good- too good. What if he couldn’t hold himself back? What if he cried out or moaned, what if someone heard and they came in here? What if-

“Look at me,” Sendak growled, pulling back.

Lotor’s breathing was uneven and devastated, he was on the verge of crying with every inhale. He’d never felt this out of control before, this scared and full of need. He wanted Sendak- _this-_ so badly, but he was so afraid. He gasped and it sounded like a sob.

“Look at me,” Sendak said, firmer, and Lotor forced his eyes open.

Sendak was so impossibly handsome above him, so real and present. This was real.

Alive- alive- _alive!_

“I thought you were dead,” Lotor whispered. “All this time, I-”

“I’m here,” Sendak said, bending down to kiss him again and again. Lotor could only clutch at him, moaning helplessly against his mouth. “I want you. Can I-?”

“Please,” Lotor gasped. “You can have anything. Everything.”

Sendak wrapped his arms around Lotor’s waist and sat back, pulling Lotor with him. Moving quickly, he bent down to pull a bottle of oil out of the pocket of his discarded pants and settled with his back against one of the bedposts. Lotor surged in to kiss him again, straddling him as Sendak fumbled with the bottle.

Lotor bit his lip as Sendak stroked him, swiping his thumb over the head of his cock maddeningly. Sendak’s other hand was on his ass, gripping tight, and then Sendak was urging him up and Lotor rose to kneel over him, clutching the bedpost and biting his lip so he wouldn’t cry out.

Sendak’s eyes were dark as he looked up into Lotor’s face and at the first touch of slick fingers to his entrance Lotor nearly collapsed. He bit his lip harder as Sendak worked a finger inside him, his breathing labored and uneven. It was strange and painfully intimate like nothing he’d ever experienced, not exactly pleasurable in the ways he was used to. It felt good in a way he didn’t know how to describe or categorize, he felt taken and owned and it would have been frightening were it anyone else.

But it was Sendak. Sendak’s finger pushing in and out of him, Sendak’s warm amber eyes looking up at him, Sendak’s touch, and smell, and _warmth._

Lotor’s thighs were shaking with the effort of keeping himself up and he dropped one of his hands to fist in Sendak’s hair, sighing sharply as he bent down to press his face to the top of Sendak’s head. He could feel Sendak’s labored breathing against his chest, and when he added a second finger Lotor shut his eyes, gritting his teeth so he wouldn’t make a sound.

Still, some muffled noise escaped him, like something between a whimper and a moan. Sendak’s fingers burned inside him but he wouldn’t trade this moment for the world. He wanted to feel the ache, the stretch, the _heat._ He wanted everything.

He’d been waiting so long without hope only for this moment to crash upon him and sweep him away.

Sendak was still stroking his cock with his other hand and Lotor couldn’t breathe through the feeling of it. He felt trapped in the sweetest way. He felt wanted and taken and he could taste blood in his mouth from how hard he was biting his lip, trying to hold back his sobbing.

Sendak curled his fingers up and Lotor gasped, arching his back and leaning into his touch, pushing against him. _“Sendak,”_ he whispered, his voice reedy and weak. He couldn’t wait anymore, couldn’t take it. His entire body was a live nerve, aching for Sendak’s touch. “Please-!”

“Shh,” Sendak whispered, kissing Lotor’s chest and pulling a nipple into his mouth to lathe it with his tongue. He slid his hand away from Lotor’s cock to wrap his arm around his waist, supporting him.

Lotor whimpered, overcome by Sendak’s fingers still pushing into him. His cock was throbbing; he was so hard it was nearly painful. Sendak added a third finger and Lotor nearly finished right then and there- every muscle in his body tense and quivering.

“Sendak,” he whispered urgently but Sendak just kept going, slow and relentless like they had all the time in the world.

But they didn’t. At best they had one night, and even then- what if someone came in to check on him? What if they were coming tonight to take him back to the gardens, the shack-

“Look at me,” Sendak said forcefully and Lotor opened his eyes with a gasp. “Are you with me?”

“Yes,” Lotor said, nodding. “Yes, yes- yes, I’m-”

Sendak pushed his fingers in firmer than before, staring at him intently, and Lotor gasped. He couldn’t hold himself up anymore, it was too much. It was a wonder he’d managed it this long as it was, and he couldn’t do it with Sendak _looking_ at him like that.

“Lie down,” Sendak said, pulling his fingers free and stroking his hip soothingly. “On your belly-”

“No,” Lotor said even as he moved back to lie on the bed. “I want to see you.”

Sendak bit his lip and then he was moving until he was braced over Lotor, staring down at him with his chestnut hair hanging into his face. Lotor pushed his fingers through it, trying to memorize everything about this moment. Sendak’s eyes were dark, his pupils blown. He was flushed and breathing hard, just as affected as Lotor was.

“Sendak,” Lotor whispered, trying to lean up to kiss him, to urge him to keep going. Sendak exhaled sharply and moved to devour his mouth, his hands roving over Lotor’s body like he wanted to touch all of him, and all at once.

Lotor spread his legs and turned his head away from the kiss, screwing his eyes shut and panting at the first press of Sendak’s cock against him. He couldn’t quite catch his breath, couldn’t hear anything past the pounding of his heart and Sendak’s harsh breathing. Sendak’s cock felt huge and it burned inside him, making tears rise to his eyes. But that didn’t matter. He angled his hips up and clutched at Sendak’s shoulders, trying to drag him closer, deeper.

He didn’t care if it hurt, he just wanted more. He wanted to feel something real. He wanted to be touched, and seen, and loved.

“Shh,” Sendak whispered into his ear, taking him by the backs of his knees to push his legs open wider. The angle shifted and suddenly it was easier. Tears spilled down Lotor’s cheeks and Sendak pressed forward to kiss them away, whispering quietly to him as Lotor fought just to breathe and hold on.

As Sendak started to thrust shallowly the tight ache eased. The burn shifted to something else, something good. Lotor had to bite his lip again to try and stay quiet, but when Sendak thrust in _hard_ he couldn’t stop the whimper escaping him.

“Shh,” Sendak murmured before kissing him, wet and hot and sloppy and amazing.

There were still tears leaking from his eyes but not from pain and not from sorrow. Lotor wasn’t sure what he was feeling, somehow it was everything and all at once. It was overwhelming, like trying to fit a lifetime of emotion into a single moment, and through it all Sendak was inside him, fucking him-

Alive- alive- _alive!_

“Sendak-!” Lotor gasped, arching his back to try and move with him, help him. He was on the edge of a precipice; he wanted so badly to fall over and he wanted so badly for this to never end. He couldn’t have both and he couldn’t choose, but Sendak slipped his hand down to stroke Lotor’s cock, choosing for him.

It only took a few strokes before Lotor was sobbing breathily and jerking up against him, tightening his fingers over Sendak’s shoulders. His release felt inevitable and too powerful for words, for thought. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever thought it could be like _this._

Sendak cried out, bending to bite Lotor’s shoulder as his movements grew uneven. Finally he stilled, breathing hard, and when he pulled out Lotor whimpered a little with disappointment.

“I love you,” Sendak whispered, peppering kisses over his face, his neck, his chest. “I love you, I love you, I-”

“I love you,” Lotor said with a small smile, stroking his fingers through Sendak’s hair while Sendak huffed out a soft laugh and settled to half-lie on Lotor’s chest.

This quiet moment- nude and in bed together, pressed up against each other- was almost as good as all the rest of it had been and Lotor closed his eyes, trying to hold the tears back. It was no use and he sobbed loudly.

He’d thought he was alone- he’d _been_ alone. And now Sendak was here and- and-

“Lotor,” Sendak whispered, moving to gather Lotor in his arms. “It’s alright, let it out. You don’t have to hold back with me.”

Lotor turned his face into Sendak’s chest and wept, his shoulders shaking, his entire body weak. He’d wept so many times but never like this- safe and warm while someone stroked his hair and whispered soothing nonsense to him. It felt good in its own way, a different kind of release.

When he calmed Sendak pulled back and kissed him again while all he could do was sigh and lie boneless in the sheets.

“Sendak,” Lotor said quietly. “Don’t let me fall asleep. I don’t want to waste a single moment with you.”

“I won’t, my love,” Sendak said with a small smile. “I promise I won’t.”

He stood and went to grab a washcloth, dipping it into the now-cold bath water to wash himself before coming closer to wipe the mess away from Lotor’s body.

“I have a present for you,” he said with a smile.

“A present?” Lotor asked, propping himself up on his elbows as he watched Sendak searching through his discarded things.

“Of course. That feast was- disgraceful. They didn’t even have dessert. What sorts of savages don’t have dessert at a birthday feast?”

“Dessert?” Lotor asked with a smile. He hadn’t had dessert in… well. Two years.

“Dayak made ginger snaps,” Sendak said, coming back to bed with a linen wrapped bundle. He opened it and Lotor smiled as he took a wafer-thin intricately iced cookie out of the small pile. When he bit into it the taste of spices flooded his tongue and he closed his eyes in pleasure.

“She wanted to send your favorite- iced honey buns, but they would have gone stale by the time we made it here.”

“Take one,” Lotor said, impossibly happy as he offered Sendak one of the cookies. He hadn’t felt this good in- he’d never felt this good.

“They’re for you,” Sendak said seriously.

“I can’t eat them all. Please- share them with me.”

“Alright,” Sendak said, slowly taking the offered treat and taking a bite. “There’s more,” he said slowly.

“More?” Lotor asked. What could possibly make this night even better?

“Have they- have they been letting you read _any_ of your letters?” Sendak asked.

“...No,” Lotor said with a faint frown. “Any… how many were there?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sendak said but Lotor could see him flushing with anger. He ducked his head and pressed a kiss to Lotor’s shoulder. “I have a letter for you. From your father.”

Lotor’s mouth dropped open. Sendak handed him an envelope and Lotor took it with shaking hands, running his fingers over the wax seal- his father’s seal. He sat up and Sendak shifted to curl up around his back, stroking his skin gently.

“Go on, open it,” Sendak urged.

It was almost a shame to break the beautiful seal but Lotor was desperate as he ripped the envelope open and unfolded the thick piece of parchment inside.

The sight of his father’s handwriting almost moved him to tears again and for a moment he could only stare, the words blurring on the page. He sniffled quietly and wiped at his face before gathering himself enough to begin to read.

_Lotor-_

_It is my greatest shame as a father and a king that I could not be there with you on this most auspicious day. I hope you were able to get some measure of comfort and joy from what small celebration I’ve managed to arrange to mark your passage into manhood. Not being there, I could not toast you and your accomplishments, your strength and bravery, your unbreakable will and radiant spirit._

_Rest assured my son- I will toast you once you are returned to me. I pray for that day with all my heart. The tide is turning, that day is coming._

_I’m afraid there’s no possible way I can say all that is in my heart in just one letter. All I can hope for is that you are well, that you have managed to find some measure of peace during your imprisonment. Know that you are not forgotten- you are loved and cherished._

_My love for you knows no bounds, and neither does my pride in you. I hope to see you again soon. Be well._

_-Z_

There was a short note from Dayak as well, brusque but loving, followed by so many messages from others. The castle chamberlain, the head of the guard, the master of horse and the falconer. People he’d known all his life, who’d helped raise him and train him, his family.

“Oh darling,” Sendak whispered, pressing kisses to his back as Lotor sniffled again and wiped the tears from his eyes.

“I haven’t done anything to deserve their praise,” Lotor whispered, turning to lie down again with his face against Sendak’s chest. “I haven’t- I haven’t been brave or strong, or done anything that would make them proud. I’ve just been…”

“Surviving,” Sendak said fiercely. “That’s enough, my love. We don’t… we don’t hear very much of you. But what we’ve heard- you deserve every kind word, everything. Everyone’s so proud of you.”

Lotor didn’t answer, unsure and yet needing desperately to believe Sendak’s words.

“How did you get these?” Sendak asked, running his fingertips over Lotor’s back to trace the scars from his whipping.

“It was a punishment. I... I killed one of Alfor’s knights,” Lotor said quietly.

“You didn’t,” Sendak said in disbelief and Lotor propped himself up on Sendak’s chest to look at him. He was so awed that Lotor snorted out a laugh.

“It was hardly… I mean. I didn’t entirely mean to do it.”

Sendak laughed too. “So- what? You killed a knight by accident? They’ll love that story at home.”

“He was acting inappropriately towards me,” Lotor said. It seemed ridiculous now, with Sendak’s chest rising and falling steadily under his hands. “Are they…? I haven’t seen them. Are they hideous?”

“No,” Sendak whispered. “Nothing about you could ever be hideous. You’re so lovely you make me breathless.”

Lotor smiled widely, his face aching with how unfamiliar the expression felt. “Sap,” he said, slapping Sendak playfully in the shoulder.

“Mmm, you don’t know the half of it,” Sendak said, pulling him back down and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

Lotor yawned, exhausted even as his whole body hummed with restless energy.

“Maybe you should get some sleep,” Sendak whispered. “I’ll keep watch over you.”

“No,” Lotor said. “No- I want this night to last forever. Tell me of home.”

“Of course. As my master commands,” Sendak said, raising his hand to run his fingers through Lotor’s hair. He talked of home, of Zarkon and Dayak and all the people that Lotor had been stolen away from.

Lotor drifted blissfully somewhere on the edge of wakefulness through it all, moving up every once and a while to kiss Sendak languidly just to remind himself that he could, that this was _real_.

But of course it couldn’t last forever.

Too soon the room started to grow lighter as the night ended and the sun began to rise.

“You should go,” Lotor said regretfully as he sat up and pulled on the silk robe again.

Sendak dressed slowly, just as reluctant for their time to be over as Lotor was.

“Take this,” Sendak said, trying to push a sheathed dagger into Lotor’s hands.

“I can’t,” Lotor said, shaking his head. “If they find it they’ll just take it away. There’ll be questions. They’ll- I don’t know what they’ll do. I can’t, darling.”

Sendak sighed sharply and put it away before kissing him again, fierce and bruising. “Stay strong, my love. We’re coming for you.”

“Goodbye,” Lotor whispered as he watched Sendak climbing back down the balcony and slipping away into the gardens, back to wherever the Galra knights were being quartered while they were here.

Once Sendak was out of sight Lotor went back to the room. He read the letter one last time before dropping it and the remains of the ginger snaps into the fire and watched as it all turned to ashes.

 

* * *

 

Lotor wondered if he’d get the chance to see the Galra off or if this was it.

He got his answer when there was a banging on the door, and opened it to half a dozen Altean soldiers. The leader pushed Lotor aside roughly before striding in. Lotor stood by the door and watched as they ransacked the room.

There was nothing for them to find and soon they were taking him by the arm to lead him out.

“No,” Lotor said desperately, turning back and reaching for Sendak’s cloak, still lying folded up neatly on the table.

“Shut up,” one of the soldiers said, slapping him on the face hard enough to make his ears ring with it.

Lotor shook his head to try and focus and fought to break away from whoever was holding him. “No! That’s mine- that belongs to me-!”

He kept screaming as they dragged him through the halls, fighting with all his might until a second soldier took him around the legs. They carried him the rest of the way back to the gardens and threw him to the floor of his tiny shack before ransacking that too.

Lotor pulled the silk robe closed tighter over his chest as he sat shivering against the wall. They searched through his bedding, ripped apart the rugs he’d woven, smashed through the shelves and all the tiny wooden figurines he’d carved.

He had no idea what they were hoping to find and a slow wave of anger rose through him as he watched them destroying what little comfort he’d managed to scrape together for himself.

“Don’t you think that’s enough?” one of the soldiers asked the leader, who was in the middle of using his dagger to rip through Lotor’s thin pillow.

“No,” he hissed. “He killed Amnos, Tova- or have you forgotten? And now his thrice-damned savage of a father has sent knights to make fools of us in our own kingdom- our home.”

“He’s just a boy, Loren,” the man that must have been Tova said with a sigh.

“He’s a man grown now,” Loren said with a smirk. “I’ve gathered that much from the circus earlier. Maybe it’s time to break him in.”

Lotor shivered and pressed himself further back against the wall, his hands shaking as he wrapped his arms around his chest. He was suddenly all too aware of being naked under the robe, of being outnumbered and surrounded by enemy soldiers- most of whom just stood silently and pointedly looked anywhere but at him.

“Don’t be disgusting,” Tova hissed. “You can’t possibly be serious-”

“Why not?” Loren asked. “He’s pretty enough. And he could stand to learn his place.”

“I won’t stand by and let that happen,” Tova said, tightening his hands into fists.

“Fine- then get out.” Loren said and motioned for the other soldiers. Two of them pushed Tova out, leaving Lotor alone with Loren and the remaining two men.

This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t.

But it was- Loren was walking closer, _leering_ at him. And Lotor was cowering against the wall like a spineless worm.

If his father were here he’d have these men drawn and quartered for even _threatening_ to lay a finger on him. If Sendak were here he’d rip them apart with his bare hands. If Dayak were here-

Lotor’s lips curled up into a cruel parody of a smile as he felt strength flood through him.

If Dayak were here, she’d simply raise an eyebrow and cross her arms over her chest. She’d wait patiently and not interfere while Lotor took care of them by himself just like she’d taught him. He pushed himself up to his feet, narrowing his eyes as he took in the men before him. He didn’t have a weapon, not even a knife, but that didn’t matter. Alfor’s soldiers had brought plenty of those with them.

“Looking forward to getting fucked, are you?” Loren asked with a laugh. “You must be so lonely around here by yourself, poor thing.”

“I’m looking forward to killing you just like I killed your pathetic little friend,” Lotor spit out.

He moved before Loren could even register the words, driving the heel of his hand up into the man’s nose with all his strength. Loren was too stunned to cry out as he stumbled backwards and Lotor didn’t hesitate to press his advantage, stepping forward to pull the sword out of Loren’s belt before kicking him to the ground and slashing his throat.

He whirled on the others before Loren had even stopped gurgling.

They shared a nervous glance before drawing their own weapons and rushing him. The world went slow and silent around him. Even though he hadn’t had formal training for two years now, his body remembered everything Dayak had taught him, everything he’d spent so many long hours practicing with Sendak and his father, his father’s knights.

It was strange to fight with a sword in such close quarters, he probably would have been better off grabbing Loren’s dagger. It was too late for that now, and at least by taking the sword he’d forced them into retaliating in kind. In his tiny shack their numbers worked against them; they had to keep out of each other’s way as well as Lotor’s.

It ended quickly enough with three bodies on the floor and Lotor standing in the midst of it all, breathing hard. Bastards. He spit on Loren’s corpse in disgust.

The door opened and he looked up, squinting against the bright light and raising his hand to shield his eyes.

“Holy…” that sounded like the soldier from before, Tova. He was standing next to Coran, who was staring into the room in horror.

Lotor took a step back, tightening his hand on the hilt of the sword.

“Sir,” Tova said, taking Coran by the arm. “What they were about to do- it’s disgraceful. It shames us all. They got what was coming to them and I’ll tell the King-”

“Nothing,” Coran interrupted. “You’ll tell the King nothing. Take our… _guest_ to the dungeons and keep watch over him. I’ll handle this.” He turned back to Lotor, staring at him with clear eyes. “Put down the sword.”

Lotor glanced between Coran and Tova standing at his shoulder. He could probably kill them too, but he didn’t want to. Tova had tried to help him, had apparently run back to fetch Coran to try and stop Loren and his friends. And Coran had _come._ He’d stood up for him before as well, however ineffectually. And then there was a whole palace’s worth of soldiers and knights standing between him and escape, between him and home. He couldn’t kill them all, even if he wanted to.

He let the blade drop and didn’t miss the way Coran’s shoulders sagged with relief.

“May I put some clothes on before I’m taken to the dungeons?” Lotor asked crossly. “Or am I to be paraded through the halls in- in-” he gestured vaguely to his blood-stained silk robe, disheveled and hanging almost entirely open over his chest, “ _lingerie_ once again?”

“You may dress,” Coran said magnanimously. “We’ll be waiting outside.”

Lotor was furious as he pulled on a threadbare tunic and some ill-fitting trousers. He only had the one pair of boots and he had no idea where it was now. Left behind in the room from earlier, probably.

He walked out of the shack to see Coran and Tova staring at him and flinched back when Coran took a step towards him.

“We don’t keep to your traditions,” Coran said slowly, his voice quiet like he was sharing a secret. “But if we did… I’d like to think I’d be Alfor’s sworn knight.”

Lotor frowned up at him, not sure what he was meant to take away from that statement. Was Coran apologizing for obeying his King? Was Lotor meant to feel better knowing that everything Coran did wasn’t personal, but simply following Alfor’s orders?

“No, you wouldn’t,” he said at last. “If you were his sworn knight you’d obey only those commands that you consider honorable and just. You’re just his dog.”

Coran exhaled sharply, looking down. “Perhaps,” he said, shoving something into Lotor’s hand before turning away. “Take him to the dungeons,” he said quietly and Tova motioned for Lotor to follow.

It wasn’t until he was sitting on a pile of musty straw in the familiar cell that Lotor opened his hand, staring at the strip of gold fabric resting in his palm. He raised it to his face with shaking fingers, closing his eyes as he inhaled deeply. It smelled of sandalwood and smoke, it smelled of Sendak and _home._

 

* * *

 

How many lashes were a man’s life worth? How many lashes were three men’s lives worth?

Lotor didn’t know how many lashes he’d gotten last time. He probably could have asked Sendak to count the scars but it was too late for that morbid exercise now.

How many lashes would he have to multiply by three? Would it be enough to kill him?

He waited in the dungeons, running the strip of Sendak’s cloak through his fingers endlessly as his mind raced. The fabric didn’t smell of anything more than damp stone and dust anymore but Lotor still liked to imagine the smell of sandalwood as he stroked the cloth with his thumb.

How many lashes would he get? Or would Alfor come up with some worse punishment for him?

But nothing happened. The days passed quietly as Tova stood guard at his cell. Servants came by twice a day to bring him thin broth, glaring at him silently. No one tried to hurt him or punish him, no one tried to do anything to him at all.

Lotor paced the cell as he tried to figure it out, feeling like a caged animal. Maybe this was the punishment? Being locked up, alone and with nothing to do. Maybe they meant to drive him mad with boredom. It wouldn’t work. Lotor paced until he was exhausted and slept fitfully, the strip of cloth from Sendak’s cloak tied around his wrist.

 _The tide is turning,_ his father had written. _We’re coming for you,_ Sendak had said.

When? How? He’d thought his people were broken and defeated. They were paying tribute, something they’d never done before. But maybe it wasn’t that simple. Maybe Alfor’s hold on his father was more tenuous than Lotor had thought. After all- Zarkon had sent knights into Alfor’s kingdom, had forced Alfor and his people to acknowledge the Galra and come face to face with their strength. Maybe that was a show for Lotor- a message.

 _The tide is turning._ Lotor could see the words written in his father’s hand and whispered them under his breath. The _tide-_ why would his father use that phrase? The Galra were a landlocked people and his father wasn’t one for metaphors.

 _My love for you knows no bounds,_ he’d written. That too, was somehow jarring. His father didn’t speak like that, didn’t write like that.

Was there some secret message in his words, a code in case the letter was intercepted? Or was Lotor reading too much into it all?

He guessed a month passed until Coran returned, leading him into Alfor’s study for the familiar ritual of letter writing. Alfor didn’t speak, simply pursing his lips as he pointed at the chair and Lotor walked closer and sat down.

His eye caught on an open letter bearing a blue seal that jogged something in his memory. The letter was half-covered by other parchments but he knew that seal- it belonged to King Blaytz of Nalquod, a sea-faring people that the Galra traded with.

Lotor’s breath hitched as everything fell into place. The tide, the love that knew no bounds- his father was building a coalition. His father was coming for him and he wasn’t alone. He had allies beyond Galra borders, he was allied with Nalquod, maybe others.

“Begin by writing-” Alfor started.

“I don’t need you to dictate,” Lotor interrupted. “I’ll write what I like and you’ll send it.”

Alfor seemed taken aback, tightening his hands into fists.

“You have no power here,” he said and Lotor looked up at him, narrowing his eyes.

“I have all the power here,” he countered, praying he was right.

The time to be meek was over. He was a prince and a man grown. His father had gone to great lengths to remind him he was loved, to remind him where true strength and power lay- not in his muscles or fighting skills but in his wits and in all the people that stood beside him. His people.

“You need me to keep my father in line,” Lotor said. “You cannot execute me. You cannot hurt me- because if you do there is no power in this world or any other that will stop my father from turning your kingdom inside out.”

Lotor raised the quill, looking at it thoughtfully. “I could destroy you, Alfor. All I have to do is set this down. If my father doesn’t get a letter he’ll think I’m dead or injured. He’ll storm your palace and drag you through the streets behind his horse. He’ll sack your city, and then he’ll raze Altea to the ground.”

He smiled as he looked up into the face of Alfor’s impotent fury. “So I’ll write what I like, and you’ll send it.”

He was right, he could see it now. Alfor turned away and stormed out of the room, leaving him alone with Coran.

Lotor looked down at the blank parchment and dipped the quill into the pot of ink.

“Alfor’s reign is coming to an end,” he said quietly. “You see that, don’t you?”

Coran tightened his lips and looked away, crossing his arms over his chest. Lotor wondered if Coran might help him when the time came or if he’d burn at Alfor’s side. He set the thought aside and began to write.

_Papa,_

He started only to pause, not sure what to say. How could he put everything he felt into words?

_Thank you, for all you’ve done. Seeing our people again has brought me such joy and strength as I’ve never felt before._

_I’m ready to come home._

_-L_

 

* * *

 

Lotor waited.

He paced his cell and did his exercises, tried to talk to Tova. The soldier refused to engage so Lotor told him stories about his homeland, his childhood. Maybe Tova might develop some sympathy for him, might help him when the time came. Maybe not. Either way, it was better than silence and it pleased Lotor to speak about his home, to pour over happy memories.

Sendak had said they heard of Lotor. That meant they had spies in Alfor’s court, his palace. Lotor wondered who they were and how many there were, if they’d make themselves known and _when._

He missed home so badly it felt like an ever present ache in his chest. The years had dulled it somewhat but seeing Sendak, _touching_ him, had made it all flood back stronger than before.

Two weeks passed and Lotor waited. His father must have received his letter, his message. Lotor was ready for whatever came. Would Zarkon believe it or would he hold back in the fear of Lotor getting hurt? Would Dayak convince him to take the chance? Would Sendak?

He startled at the sound of approaching footsteps and moved to stand closer to the bars. Tova seemed tense; he wasn’t expecting anyone to come. Lotor’s heart was pounding in his chest as he wondered if this was it- rescue- or if it was something else, something worse. A man walked closer, holding a lantern. The light illuminated his pale face, his white hair cut into a mohawk.

“State your business,” Tova said, dropping his hand to the hilt of his sword.

“The King bid me to check on the little prince,” Ulaz said evenly.

Not King Alfor, _the King._ Lotor’s breath caught in his throat. Ulaz meant his father.

“Open his cell,” Ulaz said.

“I can’t do that,” Tova said, his shoulders tight with tension. “Not without direct orders from General Coran, or a letter bearing the King’s seal.”

“I see,” Ulaz said. He shifted almost imperceptibly and Lotor knew he was getting ready to strike Tova down.

Lotor reached through the bars to wrap his arm around Tova’s throat, choking him as the man gasped in shock and struggled against him. When he went to pull his dagger Ulaz knocked it out of his hand and searched through his pockets as his thrashing grew weaker.

Finally he stilled and Lotor eased his grip to let Tova fall to the ground, waiting as Ulaz unlocked the door.

“Is he dead?” Ulaz asked.

Lotor shook his head.

“Alright, I’ll-”

“Don’t,” Lotor said firmly. “He tried to help me.”

“Yes, sire,” Ulaz said with a nod before dragging Tova into the cell. Lotor stared at him for a moment before bending to strip him of his uniform, donning his armor hurriedly.

“Is my father here?” Lotor asked. “And my sworn knight, is he-”

“Everyone is here, camped beyond the ridge and waiting to lay siege to the city. Waiting for you,” Ulaz said and Lotor’s heart skipped a beat. “Come along, sire.”

Lotor hurried after Ulaz, shaking with excitement and trying to keep himself under control.

He kept one hand on the pommel of his stolen sword and the other on the scrap of Sendak’s cloak. Finally- _finally,_ he was going home. Home!

They moved through dark halls and skirted patrols, Ulaz confident as he led Lotor towards freedom. It got harder to avoid Alfor’s guards as they went and they hid in abandoned store rooms more than once to wait as soldiers ran past.

They must have found Tova, or some other sign of treachery. They were looking for him, looking to take him back. Finally Ulaz peeked around a corner only to jerk back with a quiet hiss.

He set his hand to his blade and Lotor looked up at him in alarm.

“We’ll have to fight our way through,” Ulaz whispered.

“How many?” Lotor asked.

“Two dozen,” Ulaz said and Lotor’s blood ran cold.

“It’s too many, we can’t,” Lotor said.

“We’ll-”

“No,” Lotor interrupted. He could already see how this would go. They’d fight, but there was no way each of them could take a dozen men apiece. Lotor would be taken prisoner, a bargaining chip as usual. But Ulaz would be killed.

After everything he’d done to help him he would die in these halls. He’d be slaughtered like livestock, for nothing.

“Take me in,” Lotor said.

“Little prince,” Ulaz said, his eyes widening in shock.

“Take me in,” Lotor hissed. “They won’t kill me. And if you’re alive, if they think you’re on their side- perhaps you can aid me at another time. A better time. Do it. That’s an order.”

Ulaz sighed and rubbed at his face before stepping back and drawing his sword.

“Make it look good,” Lotor said, forcing himself to smile.

“I’m sorry,” Ulaz whispered before looking up and raising his voice. “He’s here!” he yelled. “Help! He’s here!”

Lotor raised his sword as he listened to footsteps approaching, and when the soldiers surrounded him Ulaz stepped back and Lotor dropped his blade. He raised his hands in surrender and didn’t struggle as the soldiers took him away down a familiar path, towards Alfor’s study.

Alfor was pacing inside while Coran stood in the corner with his arms folded over his chest.

 _“You,”_ Alfor hissed as Lotor was shoved inside. He strode over to slap Lotor in the face and Lotor grabbed him by the wrist, halting him in midair. Alfor grimaced and yanked his arm out of Lotor’s grasp, stumbling back. “What did you do!”

“You’re out of options,” Lotor answered slowly. “You’re surrounded and there’s no escape. If I don’t return soon, my father will assume the rescue failed and that I am dead. He’ll storm your walls and slay every single person who stands in his way until he takes you. And all of that will be because you’ve kept me from him.”

“No,” Alfor hissed. “I won’t be blamed for what savages choose to do-”

“You kidnapped a child!” Lotor yelled, straightening. “You- you stripped me and humiliated me! Hurt me! You did nothing when your own knights threatened to rape me, and you had me whipped when I defended myself! You sacrificed the lives of innocent people and for what- for gold? _You’re_ the savage!”

“How dare you,” Alfor said, tightening his hands into fists.

“Alfor,” Coran said nervously, stepping forward. “This has gone too far, we should consider-”

“Silence!” Alfor snarled. “You don’t question me-”

“My father is coming for you,” Lotor said coldly. “His army is just beyond the ridge. You can doom your people to death or you can give me up.”

“How could you know that?” Alfor demanded. “You know nothing!”

Lotor smiled, looking over at where Coran was watching wide-eyed. “Your man told me,” he said, tilting his head towards the General.

“How could you,” Alfor said, turning on Coran. “How could you betray me-”

“Sire!” Coran gasped, raising his hands. “I didn’t- Alfor! He’s lying, I didn’t-”

“Bastard!” Alfor yelled, wrapping his hand around Coran’s throat and pushing him backwards against the wall. Coran didn’t struggle, just clutched at Alfor’s arm as tears rose to his eyes.

“Alfor!” he managed. “Please- it’s- I didn’t!”

But Alfor didn’t stop, not until Lotor crossed his arms over his chest and laughed sharply. “He’s telling the truth,” he said as Alfor looked over at him in shock. “He’s telling the truth, and yet you’d kill him over a baseless accusation from an enemy?”

Alfor jerked back and Coran coughed, bringing his hands to his throat.

“You see what he is now,” Lotor said, looking into Coran’s eyes. He was hurt and betrayed, in pain. Lotor felt a twinge of guilt but this was Alfor’s doing, not his. “You see what he is,” he repeated quietly. “He doesn’t love you like you love him. He’s just a tyrant, and tyrants love only power. He would have accepted your vow to follow and obey. You would never have been his sworn knight.”

“What- what are you-” Alfor managed, confused and broken.

“You’re right,” Coran whispered, tears spilling down his cheeks.

“Coran- I’m sorry,” Alfor tried, but it was too late. “What are you doing!” Alfor demanded as Coran walked towards him.

“Ending this,” Coran said.

He threw a punch that echoed loudly through the otherwise silent room and Alfor went down with a small grunt. Coran crouched over him to gently push the hair back from his forehead, then swiped his hand over his eyes and took a deep shuddering breath.

“Let’s- let’s get you home,” he whispered at last, heading for the door.

“I’m sorry,” Lotor said as he followed.

Coran shook his head jerkily and took another breath, centering himself.

As they walked through the palace no one questioned the fact that Lotor was walking unshackled and in Altean armor. They took one look at Coran’s face and dropped their eyes to the ground, saluting and stepping aside.

Lotor followed Coran out into the yard and past the wall, through the quiet streets of the city. They left through the eastern gate, towards the rising sun.

Lotor could see shadows on the ridge, vague and distant forms of men and women on horseback. He quickened his step, not knowing or caring any longer if Coran was still with him. His heart was singing. Soon- soon- _now-_

One of the shadows broke away, riding down the hill towards him. The man climbed off his horse and _ran_ and Lotor laughed as he opened his arms.

 _“Lotor,”_ Zarkon whispered as he took Lotor tightly in his arms and spun him around.

Lotor hugged his father’s neck and shut his eyes, breathing deeply to stay calm, to take in the scent of sandalwood and _home._

“Papa,” Lotor whispered back, clutching at Zarkon’s back. “Papa, I missed you so badly.”

“You’re home now,” Zarkon said fiercely. “Finally- you’re home.”

Lotor looked up, blinking tears from his eyes, and Dayak was there, and Sendak, and- everybody. Lotor wiped his face with the back of his hand as Sendak took off his red cloak and draped it over Lotor’s shoulders, covering up the Altean colors.

“Who is this?” Zarkon asked, looking over at Coran.

“Once this is over- Altea’s regent,” Lotor said, looking back at him.

“Please, there are innocent people down there,” Coran said, kneeling before Zarkon and ducking his head. “Please stay your hand-”

“We are not savages,” Zarkon said firmly. “Sendak.”

“Yes, sire,” Sendak said, stepping forward to wrap an arm around Lotor’s shoulders and press a kiss to the side of his face. “Let’s get you back to camp.”

He took Lotor’s hand and led him over to his horse, helping him climb up into the saddle and mounting up behind him. Lotor closed his eyes and leaned back against Sendak’s powerful body, his arm wrapped around his middle. It was nearly too good to believe.

The Galra troops they rode past saluted, raising their fists to their chests. There were others there too- King Blaytz’s cavalry in blue livery, Queen Trigel’s archers in green. A group of pikemen in yellow saluted, King Gyrgan’s troops. They were notorious for staying out of conflicts but even they had joined Zarkon’s coalition- to save Lotor, to bring him home.

The adrenaline was draining from his system, leaving him exhausted. He was warm and safe and _home_ , in spirit if not in body, and he found himself nodding off as they rode. When they came to a stop he jerked awake, blinking blearily as he looked around. They were in the middle of an army camp, standing before a large red tent.

“Vrepit Sa, Prince Lotor,” the soldiers guarding the tent said, saluting.

“Vrepit Sa,” he answered with a smile as Sendak helped him climb down from the saddle.

“Keep watch,” Sendak ordered. “Don’t disturb us unless it’s a matter of life or death.”

“Yes, sir,” the soldiers answered and Sendak led him inside.

As soon as they were alone Lotor turned and wrapped his arms around Sendak’s neck, tilting his face up for a kiss.

 _“Lotor,”_ Sendak whispered as he moved to strip Lotor of his Altean armor and led him over to the pile of furs in the corner.

Lotor couldn’t help yawning as he lay down and Sendak sat beside him, drawing his sword and resting it over his knees before reaching out to stroke Lotor’s hair.

“What are they going to do?” Lotor asked quietly as he ran his fingers through the lush furs. He thought back to his time in Alfor’s palace, the servants he’d worked alongside, the people he’d grown familiar with. They didn’t deserve to die, not for something their King had done.

“They’ll take the palace,” Sendak said. “They’ll take Alfor and put him on trial, and they’ll install a regent to rule until Alfor’s daughter comes of age. No one who lays down their arms will be hurt.”

“Good,” Lotor said with relief. “That’s good. I’m so tired.”

“Then rest, my love.”

“Won’t you join me?” Lotor asked, reaching out to touch Sendak’s hip.

“I’ll keep watch over you,” Sendak said with a smile.

“Alright,” Lotor said, closing his eyes and turning his face into the furs, enjoying the feeling of Sendak’s fingers running through his hair. He took a deep breath, smiling as he was overwhelmed by the smell of sandalwood and home.

 

 

_fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the fic!
> 
> At this point I am planning on writing a soft epilogue, at which point I'll add another chapter. For now I'll leave it as 3/3 seeing as how the fic is technically finished :)


	4. Epilogue

 

* * *

 

Lotor woke with the sun and opened his eyes slowly, smiling when he found himself in a room bathed in red and gold. He sat up and ran his hands over the fine linen sheets. The air smelled sweet with cinnamon wafting in through the open window as the kitchens prepared breakfast for the castle.

“What are you doing,” Sendak groaned, reaching out to wrap his arm around Lotor’s waist and dragging him back down to bed and against his side.

Lotor laughed, turning to press a kiss to Sendak’s lips. “It’s morning, darling. Time to wake.”

“ _Morning_ ,” Sendak huffed, squinting at him. “It’s the ass-crack of dawn. What sorts of bad habits have you picked up while I wasn’t around to keep an eye on you?”

Lotor’s smile faded and Sendak winced.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry, love.”

“It’s alright,” Lotor said, looking up at the canopy over his bed, stitched from shimmering translucent red silks billowing gently in the breeze. He was home now. He was home, and that was all that mattered.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Sendak said before pouncing on him and pressing sloppy kisses to his mouth, his neck, his chest.

“Sendak!” Lotor laughed, all melancholy forgotten as Sendak worked his way down his body. “Sendak- what are you doing?”

Sendak paused just above his groin and looked up with a wicked smile. “I have the right to pleasure my master, don’t I?”

Before he could answer, Sendak took his cock in his mouth and Lotor could only sigh and clutch at the sheets as Sendak sucked him off. He cried out his release and opened his eyes to see Sendak kneeling beside him, stroking himself as he ran his gaze down Lotor’s body.

“Do you want me to…?” Lotor whispered, reaching out to set a hand on Sendak’s hip.

“Just let me look at you,” Sendak said with a smile. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, folding down to kiss him until he came with a groan and flopped down to the sheets half on top of him, pressing Lotor into the soft mattress.

Lotor couldn’t hold back a smile as he ran his fingers through Sendak’s hair and over the powerful muscles of his back, holding him close. Sendak was perfect; everything was perfect.

They managed to doze for another hour or so until there was a pounding on the door and Lotor jerked up, eyes wide and heart racing as his mind took him to another place-

“Lotor,” Sendak said, setting a hand on the side of his face and turning his head to make Lotor look at him. “Everything’s alright. You’re home, you’re safe-”

“You can’t still be asleep, little prince!” came Dayak’s annoyed voice.

Sendak swallowed. “But not from Dayak,” he finished, stumbling out of bed and grabbing his clothes.

“Open the door!” Dayak demanded.

Sendak hissed out a curse as he got tangled in his trousers and Lotor bit back a laugh.

“I’m coming, Dayak!” he called out and rose, grabbing a tunic to cover his nakedness. “Sendak,” he whispered. “Boots!”

He tossed Sendak’s boots to him and he caught them with a grin, striding over to press a quick kiss to Lotor’s lips. “See you later,” he whispered with a wink and slipped out the window.

Lotor waited a beat before running his hand through his hair and smoothing out the bedsheets, and then he walked over and opened the door.

“About time,” Dayak said crossly as she pushed past him into the room. “In here!” she called out and Lotor could only watch the parade of servants as they brought in a tub and filled it with hot water before setting up the privacy screen around it.

All the servants smiled and nodded to him, murmuring hellos and welcomes and Lotor couldn’t hold back a blush as he greeted them all in turn.

“Well?” Dayak demanded. “What are you waiting for?” She motioned to the tub and Lotor stepped behind the screen, pulling off the tunic before slipping into the hot water with a sigh. He’d had hot baths nearly every day now and he still couldn’t help closing his eyes with pleasure. Before Altea he’d never once thought that soap could be a luxury but now he knew well enough to treasure it.

“Am I late?” a deep booming voice called out and then Zarkon was there behind the screen with him.

“Papa!” Lotor squeaked, blushing as he wrapped his arms around his chest.

“Oh please,” Zarkon said, rolling his eyes. “I’ve seen it all. Who do you think changed your diapers?”

“Dayak!”

“I helped,” Zarkon said a little sheepishly. “Besides, it’s tradition for your family to bathe you for your coming of age.”

“Papa, I’ve had my coming of age,” Lotor said with a small smile.

“Oh yes,” Zarkon said, moving to settle behind him and carefully pouring water over his hair. “Sendak told me all about it. How my knights defeated the Alteans, how he and Antok fought the final match. How he stole into your room that night-”

Lotor’s eyes widened in shock as he blushed furiously. Had Sendak _told_ his father that they’d- they’d-

Zarkon peered over at him with a grin. “-to give you my letter. You know he had that exact same expression on his face when I asked him about it.”

“Gods,” Lotor muttered, burying his face in his hands as Zarkon laughed.

“I’m only teasing, little bean,” Zarkon said, soaping up his hair for him. “Though I don’t know why either of you bother trying to hide. Sendak’s sword belt is on your nightstand.”

“It- it- what?” Lotor sputtered. He was going to die from embarrassment any moment now.

“At least a dozen servants have seen him sneaking in and out of your rooms every night,” Dayak said as she walked over to drape a set of red robes over the chair by his writing desk along with a wide leather belt embellished with gold rings and a set of gold pauldrons. “Neither of you are as slick as you think you are.”

“Lean back and close your eyes,” Zarkon said, waiting for Lotor to do as he was told before carefully rinsing the soap out of his hair. Lotor’s cheeks were still burning but he couldn’t help smiling.

“So you don’t mind?” he asked quietly as Zarkon finished with his hair and moved on to scrub his back for him, pausing only briefly to stroke the whip marks thoughtfully.

“How could I mind anything that makes you so happy?” Zarkon asked.

“Everyone’s known it was just a matter of time ever since you were twelve,” Dayak said, laying out jewelry and a fine set of combs over the table, “when you crowned Sendak the King of the Summer Court at the Litha festival.”

Zarkon laughed. “I’d nearly forgotten. He looked so smitten when you set the rose crown over his brow-”

“Papa,” Lotor groaned. “Could we _please_ talk about something else? _Anything_ else?”

“As you say, little one,” Zarkon said and leaned forward to kiss the top of his head. “Why don’t you finish up and then we’ll have some breakfast.”

He and Dayak left him alone to finish bathing, waiting beyond the screen. The sound of their quiet conversation washed over him pleasantly and he smiled as he finished and got out of the tub to dry himself with a sheet.

He put on the red robes first, marveling at how fine and soft the fabric felt over his skin. The robes were sleeveless and deeply cut down the front, slashed at the sides up to the hips, the top of the slit stitched together with fine gold chains. He tightened the belt around his waist before going out into the main room where a few other guests were waiting around a large ornate tray bearing breakfast.

“Sir Kolivan,” Lotor said with a grin as the falconer nodded tightly, stern as ever. The master of horse, Sir Thace, was more friendly when Lotor greeted him, ruffling his damp hair with a small smile. General Gnov, head of the guard, patted him on the back almost hard enough to knock the wind out of him, and the castle chamberlain, Lord Janka, shook his hand like he was some kind of honored guest.

It was strange to be around so many people all at once. Since he’d been back, roughly a month now, he’d mostly been spending his days with his father and Dayak- and Sendak of course. Even that much had seemed overwhelming at times after having been alone for so long. But even when it seemed like a bit too much it still felt wonderful to be surrounded by people who loved and cared for him, who’d raised him.

As they ate breakfast together Lotor smiled so widely that his cheeks started to ache, laughing as they all shared outlandish stories about what had happened during his absence as well as the rumors they’d heard about what he’d been up to. He’d expected to feel unsettled by such talk but it was difficult to be melancholy surrounded by six cheerful Galra- his family.

“We’ll see you again at the celebration, little prince,” Thace said with a smile before they all made their way out, bowing respectfully to him.

“Come, little prince,” Dayak said, taking his hand and leading him over to his desk. She and Zarkon bickered lightheartedly as they braided gold beads into his hair and tied it off with red ribbons while he fought to hold back tears, overcome with joy. Dayak helped him line his eyes with khol and dust his cheeks with gold powder and afterwards his father helped him fasten the ornamental gold pauldrons over his shoulders and pull on the thigh-high boots, studded with gold plates.

Once they were finished Lotor stood in front of the mirror with his father’s arm around his shoulders and Dayak smiling behind him and everything felt so _right_ he could hardly breathe.

“Two months too late, perhaps,” Zarkon said, “but I’ll be at your coming of age after all.”

Lotor smiled, tears rising to his eyes.

“If you smudge the khol you’ll be putting it on again on your own,” Dayak muttered and Lotor laughed, blinking rapidly as he hugged her, and then his father.

“Are you ready?” Zarkon asked with a smile.

“Yes, papa,” Lotor whispered and reached out to take his hand. Zarkon squeezed his hand before leading him out of the rooms and they walked down to the tournament grounds together. Instead of wooden stands it was surrounded by steep grassy slopes, full of Galra sitting on rugs and blankets with their families and friends.

Lotor followed Zarkon out into the middle of the sand and smiled as Zarkon raised his hand and everyone started to yell and clap wildly.

“Today we celebrate our little prince’s coming home!” Zarkon announced while Lotor blushed, looking around at all the friendly faces cheering for him. “We celebrate the end of a war, the end of a tyrant, and the beginning of something good and new.”

The arena was full of red and gold but Lotor could see other colors too- blue and green and yellow, and in one small corner- flashes of white. His eyes widened as he saw _Coran_ with a small complement of Altean guards, Tova among them. Coran raised his hand awkwardly in a small wave, and after a moment of trepidation Lotor waved back.

“We celebrate new friends and new allies, new possibilities, new leadership. We celebrate our prince’s coming of age.”

Drummers started a lively song and Lotor turned to see Sendak walking onto the field, nude but for a red wrap around his hips and gold cuffs around his ankles, a decorative gold pauldron over his right shoulder. He wore two curved swords sheathed at his belt and he looked powerful and glorious, too handsome for words.

“And though he’s already selected a sworn knight, we can still celebrate through honorable combat!”

The crowd went wild as Sendak knelt before Lotor and took his hands, pressing a kiss to the backs of his knuckles before rising again.

“Come along boys,” Zarkon said, draping his arm over Lotor’s shoulders before leading them to the royal dais.

“You’re not fighting in the melee?” Lotor asked with a grin, elbowing Sendak in the side. “Afraid you’d lose and I’d choose someone else?”

Sendak raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Not at all. Would it please you to see me fight, my prince?”

He looked so fiercely confident that for a second Lotor couldn’t catch his breath. He swallowed and took Sendak’s hand in a tight grip. “It would please me if you stayed by my side.”

Sendak nodded, still smirking. “When the time comes I’ll fight the champion for you,” he said. “To prove you’ve made the right choice.”

“I know I have,” Lotor said quietly, smiling as he watched a blush stain Sendak’s cheeks.

The royal dais was a raised platform draped in thick carpets and cushions and covered by a canopy of red silk. Lotor sat with a grin, his father at his left and Sendak at his right. Servants brought over trays of cool drinks and snacks, small delicate morsels of food and cut fruits, bowls of olives and cheese and airy pastries, both sweet and savory.

Zarkon filled two cups with sweet wine and offered one to him, which Lotor took with a surprised smile. “You are my pride and joy,” Zarkon said seriously. “It warms my heart that I can finally say that to you. You’ve truly come into your power and I couldn’t be more proud.”

“Papa, you’ll make me cry,” Lotor whispered with a watery smile.

Zarkon laughed but his eyes seemed to be glittering oddly too. He took Lotor by the back of the neck and dragged him closer to kiss his forehead before letting go. “Alright,” he said, clearing his throat. “No more talk of crying or sadness, today we celebrate.” He tapped his cup against Lotor’s and they both drank.

Sendak took Lotor’s free hand and Lotor smiled, leaning against his side. Slowly the dais filled with the other members of Zarkon’s court- Dayak and Kolivan, Thace and Gnov and Janka. Lotor laughed as a young woman barreled up the stairs with a grin.

“Ezor!” Lotor said as she tackled him in her excitement.

“You bastard,” she muttered. “You could have sent word when you got back. I had to wait to hear it from the _stablehands-”_

He looked up to see Narti coming up at a more sedate pace, Kova perched on her shoulder. She was followed by Acxa and Zethrid and the other knights that had come to Altea for his coming of age and they gathered around him to welcome him home, talking excitedly about the tournament to come.

Drummers started a lively beat, signaling the melee was about to begin, and when Zarkon raised his cup into the air a horn rang out and the field descended into chaos. Dozens of scantily-clad warriors with blunted practice blades broke out into combat in the sandy pit and Lotor could only watch, enraptured, as the pattern of battle flowed and shifted.

Here and there small groups of fighters banded together in short-lived alliances only to turn on each other once their opponents had been bested. Men and women cursed and spit on the sand when they were forced to leave the field in defeat and the whole time the drummers kept up their spirited tune. The battle lasted the better part of an hour until eight warriors stood victorious, breathing hard with their skin glistening with sweat. There was an hour of rest filled with acrobats and jugglers, minstrels and poets.

Lotor drank wine and ate, his heart overflowing with joy at being surrounded by his friends and family, at being celebrated and loved. Sendak sat at his side, watching too. He refused food and drink but he kept his arm around Lotor’s shoulders almost as if by accident and Lotor had never felt happier.

The one-on-one matches went by quickly until a champion was selected near sunset, and Sendak finally rose from his place at Lotor’s side, stretching with a groan. Lotor stood too, trying not to blush as he felt everyone’s eyes on him.

“Sir Sendak,” he said firmly, drawing his dagger.

“Lotor, you don’t have to-” Sendak whispered.

Lotor shook his head with a smile as he cut into his palm and closed his hand into a fist, coating it with blood. “You have my blessing in this fight,” he said, pressing a bloody handprint to Sendak’s bare chest.

Sendak nodded solemnly. “I won’t disappoint you, sire,” he said before turning and taking his place in the arena across from the night’s champion, Sir Ranveig.

Dayak tutted at him as she bandaged his hand but Lotor could only pay attention to what was happening below. Galra soldiers holding torches moved to surround the field in a neat circle before standing at attention. The sun was nearly all the way down, the sky a bright Galra red. The scene was beautiful and dreamlike, the very air thrumming with excitement.

Sendak drew his blades and saluted as Ranveig did the same.

“Would you care to do the honors?” Zarkon asked and Lotor nodded.

He took a deep breath and raised his fist into the air. The soldiers raised their torches and shouted “Vrepit Sa!” as one, the sound carrying through the arena like rolling thunder.

A shiver ran up Lotor’s spine as Sendak clashed his blades together before dropping into his fighting stance. Ranveig smirked as they circled each other, and then he lunged.

This was nothing like the battle between Antok and Sendak back in Altea. This was brutal combat and a test of strength and skill rather than a show for the crowd. Ranveig was huge and powerful and driven to win, but Sendak was no less so and he was fierce as he fought for Lotor’s honor as well as his own.

Lotor could only watch, barely breathing as Sendak blocked blow after blow before going on the offensive with a shout, his blades moving so quickly they were just flashes of light as they reflected the fire of the torches. Lotor had never seen him like this, putting all of himself into a fight without reservation. Ranveig landed a powerful blow that would have taken Sendak’s head off if he hadn’t rolled away at the last possible moment and Lotor broke out in a cold sweat.

What if something went wrong? What if-

“He’s in control,” Zarkon said from beside him and Lotor startled. He hadn’t noticed his father rising and coming closer. “They both are,” Zarkon said, putting a hand on Lotor’s shoulder. The warm contact was calming and Lotor could finally breathe again.

“Watch closely,” Zarkon said quietly, pointing. “Ranveig’s stance is off, he’s about to miss the parry-”

Just as he said it Sendak slashed viciously at Ranveig’s shoulder and Lotor watched the larger Galra’s eyes widening as he raised his sword to block a moment too late. Instead of a gush of blood there was a loud slap and a grunt from Ranveig. At the last second Sendak had twisted his sword, hitting Ranveig with the flat of his blade rather than the edge.

“That’ll smart in the morning,” Dayak muttered.

“You see?” Zarkon said. “You don’t need to worry so, little bean. Your sworn knight won’t be hurt.”

Ranveig managed to disarm Sendak and punch him in the face and Zarkon winced. “Not seriously, at least,” he added.

Even though the terror had faded Lotor was still trembling with nerves as he watched the sword fight devolve into a wrestling match as they both lost their blades. Ranveig had the weight advantage but Sendak was quick and clever, and soon Sendak had him pinned to the ground and struggling ineffectually in his hold.

Sendak looked up at the royal dais, at Lotor, and grinned- his eyes glittering with the reflection of the firelight.

Lotor grinned back and finally Ranveig let his body grow slack in surrender. The audience cheered wildly as Sendak stood and offered the other knight a hand up, the cheering only growing louder as Ranveig bowed towards the dais and left the field.

“Go on,” Zarkon said and Lotor practically sprinted down the stairs towards Sendak.

Sendak started towards him and they embraced tightly before Lotor drew away and took Sendak’s face in his hands, looking up into his eyes with a smile.

“Lotor?” Sendak whispered in confusion and Lotor cut him off with a kiss, smiling against his lips. Cheering turned to whistling and excited hooting and when Lotor pulled away Sendak stared back at him, awed and slightly dazed. “But-”

“We don’t have to hide,” Lotor said. “It turns out everyone already knows.”

“Oh,” Sendak breathed out and kissed him again, more firmly.

Lotor let himself be lost in it for a moment before he got his wits about him- remembering his _father_ was watching- and pulled away. He took Sendak’s hand to lead him off the field towards the crowd of admirers ready to congratulate them both. He distantly heard his father announcing the feast and then they were being swept up in the crowd.

The feast hall was loud and raucous, the food plentiful and delicious. Sendak finally broke his fast and started drinking with a vengeance and Lotor couldn’t help feeling giddy as he leaned against his side.

There were acrobats juggling fire and drummers performing choreographed songs and not a single boring toast from boring old men. The wine flowed freely and the food was never ending. There were towers of iced honey buns as tall as Zarkon himself and through it all Lotor was surrounded by people who loved him. He caught sight of Ulaz in the crowd and waved as the man smiled and saluted him. He saw Antok flirting with Acxa and Haxus trying to do a drunken handstand while Bogh laughed and he was dizzy with how happy he was.

“There’s dancing in the main yard!” Ezor called out, loping up the steps to the head table. “Come on, Lotor! Let’s go! That is-” she winced and turned to Zarkon, bowing respectfully. “By your leave, sire.”

“Go on,” Zarkon said with a booming laugh. “Enjoy this night to the fullest.”

Lotor laughed too, pressing a kiss to his father’s cheek before jerking to his feet and dragging Sendak behind him, following Ezor through the crowd.

The main yard was just as festive as the hall had been, full of music and laughter and the smell of good food and wine. The crowd was full of only friendly faces and Lotor laughed as Sendak stumbled through the dance moves.

“I thought I’d be the one having trouble!” Lotor called out.

“You were always the better dancer,” Sendak said with a scowl. Lotor smoothed it away with a kiss, not caring if Ezor was whistling suggestively at them.

The night was a blur; he was dizzy in the best possible way. Was this what being drunk was like? He felt like he was on top of the world, he felt invincible and fearless.

It was past midnight by the time he and Sendak stumbled back to his rooms, holding hands and giggling. Sendak pressed him into a niche in the hall and kissed him fiercely while Lotor moaned and wrapped his arms around his neck, gasping as Sendak slid his hand up his thigh and under the robes.

Sendak grabbed his ass and pulled back with a grunt, his eyes wide.

“What is it?” Lotor asked, confused.

“You’re not-” Sendak started, digging his fingers into Lotor’s flesh. “You’re not wearing anything underneath?”

“No,” Lotor laughed. “Are you?”

“Gods,” Sendak moaned, kissing him with renewed vigor. “Gods, _Lotor-_ this whole time, I- I-”

Lotor laughed again and pulled away, taking him by the hand to drag him onwards. They passed servants and guards and other couples in the halls and Lotor didn’t care, not about being seen or heard, not about anything other than Sendak.

His rooms were lit only by dim candle light and they fell to the bed, desperate for each other. Lotor wrestled Sendak over to his back and pulled the wrap away from his hips, staring at Sendak’s hard cock in anticipation.

“Lotor,” Sendak whispered hoarsely, gripping his hips tightly enough to bruise.

Lotor rooted around in his nightstand for the oil and shoved his robes out of the way before slicking himself hurriedly and sinking down onto Sendak’s cock with a moan, throwing his head back. They’d done this so many times now but every time felt somehow new and precious and _better_ in some indefinable way. He started moving, laughing breathily as Sendak groaned under him and clutched at his thighs, his hips.

He took Sendak’s wrists and pinned them above his head before bending to kiss him, his hair falling down around them like a curtain. Sendak was hot and hard inside him, perfect in every way. Lotor angled his hips so that the head of Sendak’s cock hit that spot that made him see stars and then he was lost in pleasure, moaning loudly and shamelessly with each thrust.

Sendak growled and pulled his hands out of Lotor’s grasp before pulling Lotor up and off, tossing him to the sheets and flipping him easily over to his belly.

“Sendak,” Lotor moaned as Sendak pushed his robes out of the way and lifted his hips, entering him again from behind. His head was swimming, he was desperate already. “Sendak!” he cried out, begging wordlessly for more.

Sendak gave it to him, pulling out before slamming back in _hard._ Lotor clutched at the sheets as he tried to stay centered and hold himself back from coming, trying to make this last. There was pressure building up in his groin, at the base of his spine. His cock was aching for release but he wanted this to last forever.

With a groan Sendak folded over him, biting at his shoulder as he reached around to stroke him. Lotor jerked at the surprising burst of pleasure, his whole body quivering as Sendak fucked him with an almost animalistic brutality. He wanted it, wanted everything Sendak would give him and more. He was practically screaming into the pillow and he wasn’t afraid of being heard, or found out. He was fearless and lost as his senses were completely overwhelmed by Sendak around him, inside him.

He came with a cry, spilling over the sheets and his ceremonial robes, not caring about the mess as he was lost in shivering waves of pleasure. Sendak fucked him through it and then he was crying out too, his movements growing ragged until he stilled and slowly pulled out.

They collapsed to the sheets beside each other and Lotor could only smile as he looked over at Sendak’s flushed face, his parted lips as he fought to catch his breath. He caught Sendak’s lips in a sweet kiss and they laughed as they came down, pressed so tightly together Lotor wasn’t sure where his body ended and Sendak’s began.

He might have fallen asleep like that if Sendak hadn’t had the presence of mind to groan and sit up, running a hand through his hair with a sheepish grin.

“Let’s…” he whispered before moving to pull Lotor’s boots off and then his pauldrons and belt and robes. Lotor took off his jewelry and set it on the nightstand as Sendak rose and went to retrieve a washcloth, cleaning both of them off before lying down with a sigh and gathering Lotor to his chest.

“I love you,” Lotor murmured sleepily, warm and happy and still floating somewhere wonderful.

“I love you,” Sendak said, tightening his arms.

For a while they lay in silence, listening to the sounds of merry-making floating up through the open window. Lotor was on the verge of drifting off when Sendak spoke.

“Do you remember what we dreamed about when we were children?” he murmured. “Going off on adventures, being knights…”

“Of course,” Lotor said with a smile.

“Well,” Sendak said slowly. “They say there’s a wendigo in Merdin.”

“A wendigo?” Lotor laughed. “You mean a rabid dog.”

“Of course. It’s always a rabid dog. But… we could go and see for ourselves.”

Lotor propped himself up so he could look into Sendak’s eyes. “You’re serious?”

“Yes, love,” Sendak said, pushing his fingers through Lotor’s hair.

“I- I don’t know if I’m quite ready to-” Lotor bit his lip and looked away, blushing. “I’m- I don’t know if I can quite… leave home.”

“Merdin’s only an hour’s ride out,” Sendak said gently. “We can be there and back in a day. We’ll take a few knights with us too, in case it’s truly a wendigo after all. And you know Merdin has the best basbousa cakes in the whole kingdom, so the quest won't be a total loss no matter what we find.”

Lotor smiled weakly as he looked into Sendak’s beautiful amber eyes. He knew what Sendak was doing- trying to help him ease back into truly _living_ again. He’d never been afraid to travel before, to ride or explore or leave home. Things were different now, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t pursue their dream.

Wasn’t this what he’d always wanted? Traveling his kingdom with his sworn knight, helping his people and having adventures?

“It’ll be fun,” Sendak said. “The people will be happy to see you, and… but if you’re not ready-”

“Let’s do it,” Lotor said, his heart fluttering in his chest. He was scared and he hated it, but Sendak would be with him. He thought maybe he could do anything, if only Sendak was with him. “Let's go. In the morning.”

Sendak grinned and pushed him down into the sheets. “Proper morning though,” he said. “Not whatever _you_ think morning is.”

“So noon, then?” Lotor asked with a laugh.

“Noon,” Sendak agreed before kissing him breathless.

 

_fin._

 

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the fic! The image at the end is a WIP of Lotor and Sendak, please don't repost it anywhere :) Also- check out the end of ch2 for an added WIP image of Lotor in his Altean coming of age outfit :)

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [barbitone](http://barbitone.tumblr.com/) and pillowfort also at [barbitone](https://www.pillowfort.io/barbitone)


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